Fettered Ties
by Loke
Summary: After tragedy strikes, and Jason flees in grief, Emily does the unthinkable. She takes over the Morgan Empire. But after an attempt on her life leaves her teetering on the brink, her savior returns. And that’s when the trouble really begins. FutureFic.
1. Prologue

**Title:** "Fettered Ties"

**Author:** Loke

**Fandom:** General Hospital

**Rating:** PG-13/R (For violence and adult situations and subject matter.)

**Category:** Future-Fic, Angst/Drama, WIP.

**Characters/Pairings:** Emily, Jason, Nikolas, Johnny, Dillon, Elizabeth, Georgie, Ric, Lorenzo, Faith, Courtney (flashbacks and mentions), a few OC's, Nem, Emily/Johnny, Journey, GQ, Elizabeth/Jax, Ric/Alexis, Faith/Lorenzo. I think that's all of them, lol.

**Warnings: **Character death(s). Two past, more to come. Also, this is Jason/Emily centric… but not like that! It may _seem_ like that during parts, but I swear it's not. It's purely bro/sis. Honest!

**Summary: **After tragedy strikes and Jason flees in grief, Emily does the unthinkable. She takes over the Morgan Empire. But after an attempt on her life leaves her teetering on the brink, her savior returns. And that's when the trouble really begins. Future-Fic.

**Feedback:** Mucho appreciated as usual! You guys know I love to hear from you :o)

_(**a/n:**_ _Hey guys. I know SIB is still a WIP, but I've been knocking around this future-fic idea for ages, and got carried away one night when everything I seemed to write for SIB completely sucked. Anyway, this story is set in the way future (in 2013 to be exact), and also, there aren't any major past S/L changes in this fic. Emily had cancer but went through remission, all that N/E/Z drama went down, Journey got married, Carly had baby Morgan and was shot, and Sonny did leave the mob, in effect handing over the 'bidnes' to Jason. As for the current scheme of things, S&C left town a few years back happy as clams (I wish!), Lorenzo is still hanging around, and Ric and Liz are around, Lucky too. _

_But there is one major thing I've done, and that is after Emily finally "chose" Nikolas, I had the old AJ/Edward war over ELQ start up again, only this time it escalated beyond control and one of Edward's schemes had unforeseen repercussions, the result of which caused Emily to flip out and renounce both Edward and his name. To further illustrate her separation from the Q's, she took Jason's last name, becoming Emily Bowen-Morgan. I know it sounds really harsh and far-fetched, but she had her reasons and what exactly those "repercussions" were will be revealed later on. _

_As for the rest… well, you'll know how everything 'ended up' by the end of the chapter, lol. But be warned… this is not a happy-go-lucky fic by any means. It's pretty tragic with even more heartache yet to come. So, if you're an angst freak like me, I hope to make it a good read for you. Also, the main characters have undergone some incredibly traumatic events over the past few years, and as a result have changed significantly. This fic is in first person (alternating between Emily, Jason, and Nikolas POV, mostly Em), so I want to warn you that Emily is drastically different on the inside now, and for the most part no one really knows just how much her brother's absence has changed her. Again this is dark stuff, hence the R, so just tread lightly if your not a big fan of the broody bad. Oh and in case you hadn't noticed in the summary… this is basically a story centered on Jason and Emily and the role she assumed upon his exit five years ago. Its also going to be about them trying to get past what their lives have not only dealt them, but done to them, and attempting to fix the rift and heal old wounds. But, as usual, the path won't be smooth and promises to be damn near anything but pretty.)_

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little tease and please feel free to let me now what you think. Good or bad. (Just don't savagely flame me, okay?) Take Care! --Loke

-----

_**Prologue: Where The Years Find Me.**_

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to look into his steely blue eyes and see the man who had accepted me with open arms when I finally realized just how ugly and cruel my family had become. I wanted to see _him_; the real him, the true him.

But he wasn't there, not completely.

And in truth, he hadn't been for a long time. The brother I knew had died; retreated in silent agony to an armored shell safe from the world, safe from love and the people who could lure you into feeling it. I still remember that day, watching in quiet, horrified dismay as the Jason Morgan who had been my savior more times than I could remember, began a slow fall into blackness. Into a pace where not even I could reach him.

It was the day his wife died.

Courtney Mathews Morgan; the reason my brother's heart beat, the reason he even bothered to breathe.

It was tragic. But then, what death isn't, right? See, Courtney had a miscarriage years ago, one that took away any chance she had to conceive again. That discovery nearly broke her, I think. But being who she was -- a woman with a spirit so profound and indestructible -- she fought back from it, she found her life again, and set out to make a family with my brother.

She wanted it so much.

So much that she traveled everywhere, all over the States and Europe, even Canada, in search of the newest fertility treatments that would give her that dream of a real family she strived for. It was during that time that we became close, formed a bond deeper than simple friendship and closer than sisters. But how could I resist, right? I mean, Courtney was _Courtney_. There really isn't a proper way to explain. She was who she was. One of the most amazing people I'd ever met. Like my brother, and so many others, I couldn't help but fall under her spell.

She would take me with her on her gallivants to hospitals near and far, and I would just soak it all in, learning as we went, applying what I saw to the career in medicine I wanted so badly. And though I know part of her would have preferred if Jason filled my seat for those trips, I'm more thankful than she'll ever know for that time we had together. Because now those memories of inside jokes, favorite spots to eat, must-see movies, to-die-for boutiques, and all the little things only best friends know are all I have left of her. Those things and the memory of the last trip she ever took… the one I couldn't make.

See, that weekend Courtney received a call from Dr. Meadows, telling her about a new treatment based out of Paris that looked extremely promising, more so than any of the others. I can still remember the pure glee in her voice as she retold to me all of what Dr. Meadows had said. It really looked like that treatment was going to be it: the miracle she'd been praying for going on five years. And, as it would go more oft than not, when Jason had to decline due to 'business', she asked me along for the ride. Except this time I couldn't go. GH was understaffed, and me being a lowly intern, had to due my newbie duty and fill the void. So Courtney went alone.

Only, this time, she never came back.

Her jet never even made it past the border, not even ten feet past the runway. It exploded over the tarmac, just at the onset of its climb, killing the two pilots onboard, and Courtney, instantly.

The only comfort I could take was knowing that it all happened too quickly for her to have suffered. A person like her never should have suffered. She deserved the best of everything, and maybe, just maybe, if she had made it to Paris, she would have finally gotten it.

But it doesn't make much sense to dwell now. Those days are gone and so is she.

Youthful innocence fled from me that day in a blaze of orange fire and a sound I'm not likely to forget.

And with that innocence went the life I planned for myself, the future I spent so many years envisioning. But, of course, as drastically different as things are now, some still ended as I suspected.

Nikolas and I married. I, a Morgan reborn, became a Cassadine one winter night in freshly fallen snow, with just my two oldest friends, my brother, and my adoptive sister to witness the transformation.

That night, and the night my son, Demetri, was born, are days I hold very near to my heart, and are often all I have—save my husband's loving arms—to pull me through the terrible burden I brought upon myself all those years ago.

The night the sheer weight of Jason's grief finally drove him out of town, out of the Life, and away from me. It was the night I officially took the reins. The night Emily Morgan came to rule the Port Charles Underworld with a swift and ruthless hand.

That one day marked at once the birth of a new era, and the death of a childhood. Once it passed and the sun set over the lake that night, nothing ever was the same again. Shadow overtook light, secrecy reined in place of truth; violence became law when all others failed us. I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, _for_ my brother, in _his_ name, and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take.

And it nearly killed me.

I cannot stress enough how deeply I regret the decision I made to pick up where an abandoning Jason left off. I, childish, wounded of heart, and lost in grief, believed I was being _noble_, sacrificing the future I had worked so very hard for to carry on in his place. But, see, I thought he would be back; it was the only thing that made those initial years bearable.

But then, as I said, I had been young and believed with youthful naiveté, that all would be right again as long as he did come back, as I so believed he would. But those were thoughts coming from a young woman who -- despite the rampant tragedy she had encountered over time -- had no clue of what it was to be truly tested, no idea of just how brutal her new world could be.

I couldn't have found out that truth in a more vivid manner.

Pregnant, happy and enjoying a careless moment of simple joy playing in the snow with my husband and my son, my world once again crashed around me. In one instant, one horrifying instant, I learned what it was to be a hunted mark, and what it was to a be successful target, just as Courtney had been. In the fury of bullets, and the havoc they wreaked on my body, I miscarried. But, strange as it may seem, the ugly moment that took away my unborn baby and nearly claimed my life, gave me back what I hade been desperately hoping for since the nightmare first began.

The strike against me brought my brother home.

Empty and broken, staring up into familiar eyes of gentle ice from the confines of a hospital bed, I believed my reprieve had arrived at long last.

But, as I would soon learn, just because he was home again, didn't mean he was back. It may have looked like him, if not a little older, his past weighing a little heavier on his handsome face. His arms still may have felt the same wrapped around me as I grieved for the child I would never know. His voice may have sounded the same as he cooed soothing whispers against my ear. But his eyes betrayed the façade with rigid and heartbreaking clarity.

They cracked the mirror.

_They_ set in front of me a truth that broke my heart yet again: The brother I desperately needed to bring me through the fire, my leather-jacketed angel, didn't dwell behind those eyes any longer. He had been lost somewhere along the way.

And restoring him…? Well, that was a battle I never saw coming, and also, as I would learn, the only one that ever really mattered.

-----

TBC...


	2. Emily

**"Fettered Ties"**

**Email:** Abandoned-by-sanity@pixelcherry.com

**Summary**: Courtney was gone. Grief drove Jason away, and, in his absence, I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, _for_ my brother, in _his_ name and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take. And it nearly killed me.

**Rating:** R (violence)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing associated to "General Hospital"  But, and I kn0w I've said this before, I really wouldn't have a damn thing against owing Steve and Tyler. *shivers* There should be a law against being _that_ freaking hot… but thank Merlin there isn't!! ^__^

**Feedback:** Need it, want it, LOVE it.  It makes me smile, unless, of course, they're horribly cruel, in which case it makes me spit fire, and entertain homicidal thoughts.  Just kidding! Seriously though, I love hearing from all of you, good or bad. :o)

**(a/n)**  I'll just keep the general "don't forget that this is a dark fic" warning going.  Be prepared… we're delving into the inner workings of Mrs. Morgan-Cassadine's mind while she's confronting her brother, someone she doesn't exactly have the warmest feelings toward anymore.  It may get kinda scary, lol.  Also, please note that for the story's sake, Emily is quite non-canon, I realize this, but rest assure that it is necessary. Read on, hope ya like.  Also, there's a detailed a/n on the bottom. Did you really think I would let you all go without talking your ear off?  Silly rabbit! :D ~Loke

_(*If you haven't read the A/N from the prologue as well as the prologue itself, please do.  It explains the current scheme of things.  If you don't read it you will be lost here. TY!)_

**_~#~_**

**_Chapter One ~" That give and take"_**

**_~#~_**

**_February 12th, 2013_**_, Present Day._****

**_~_**

_you used to captivate me  
by your resonating light  
but now I'm bound by the life you left behind  
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams  
your voice it chased away all the sanity in me  
  
these wounds won't seem to heal  
this pain is just too real  
there's just too much that time cannot erase__. – Evanescence, My Immortal  
****__~_

Port Charles in the winter.  It's my favorite time of year.  Of course, my reasons are different from before.  Years ago I loved the winter because of the holidays and the warmth of spirit that came with them.  It was about the feelings the season brought, the sense of family.  Now, well, now I think it's the snow that gets me.  Just the way a shimmering blanket of crisp, virgin snow can coat the city, cleansing it almost.  Like a new beginning.  A chance to wipe the slate clean.  To start over fresh.  To bury all those dirty little secrets and unspoken breaches of morality and conscience somewhere deep and out of sight, hidden from the good and clean people you have to face everyday, the people who love you.

Like I said, my reasons for being fond of the winter are very different now.  Much less idealistic and nowhere near as warm and fuzzy.  As odd as it may sound, I wait for the winter now, I pray for it.  Because to me it's a sort of confession, the only kind I think I'm worthy of these days.  It wouldn't feel right to do it the proper way, not with all the things I've done, the person I've become.  So, I take the snow instead, and use the cleanliness and purity of it ease my soul so that sleeping becomes a little easier and living with myself not so much of a challenge.  

But I'll tell you a little secret, though: It doesn't work as well as it used to.

The snow came three months ago and instead of scrubbing clean the blood on my hands, I watched my own pool around me, seeping from my body as my husbands anguished cries echoed through the blustery winter air.  So now, as I sit here in my family's penthouse, gazing out at Port Charles in all her snow-covered glory, all I feel is cold inside and just as dirty as before.  

I had been lucky so far.  I had been able to keep the violent reality of my world away from my family, and keep on going, pretending as if the work I did didn't threaten us all, every minute of every day.

But that night in the freshly fallen snow –the seasons first- shattered it all.  And my two worlds collided in a hail of bullets and a torrent of frantic screams.  The once pure snow that Nikolas and Demetri had been playing in moments before ran red around them with _my blood, as the life inside me slowly trickled away.  And I mean that quite literally.  _

I close my eyes and let the memories drift back to me, the flashes of light, the screams, the muted faces streaked with panicked tears… the burgundy snow.  _Fifty-two days ago and still as vivid and confusing as that night.  If I try hard enough I can still feel the searing pain strike me in the gut over and over and then slowly radiate out until everything, absolutely _everything_ burned like liquid fire.  It __burned. So hot and heavy the feeling was it seemed as if a boulder sat on my chest, keeping me from taking in the air I gasped so desperately for.  I remembered my straining fingers clawing vainly at the wet ground beneath me, felling so many things at once that I could concentrate on __nothing.  It all blurred together, mingling and mixing so completely that my brain only managed to translate it into one recognizable sensation: __pain.  The most excruciating pain I had ever felt.  _

And just when I've all but lost myself in my unfortunate recollections, I hear the faint click of the bedroom door and then the light scuffle of heavy feet move toward me at a snail's pace.    

It's not Nikolas, I know that.  Demetri and he just left with an army of guards to pay Lucky a visit across town.  

So, that leaves just one person.  The only person the guards would even dare allow up here besides Johnny.  

Jason.

And before I can even think his name, mine is on his lips, hitting the air in a hesitant whisper so scant I barely make it out.  I blink against the pale moonlight that engulfs the room, showing no acknowledgement of his presence.  But as usual, my silence is not a deterrent and I hear him move closer until the empty chair beside me gains a familiar profile, one that joins in my stoic gaze at the city lights.

The silence coats us both, not thick or stifling, but comfortable yet oddly distant at the same time.  

God, _so much_ has changed. 

There was a time when I would have met his presence with the biggest smile I could rally, shinning so bright with sisterly admiration that my face would hurt. But those days are gone, withered away along with the years.  And now, in the place of our once indescribable closeness, silence is all I can offer him.  It's all I have the strength for honestly.  And it has nothing to do with my still recovering wounds.

In keeping with the trend of these visits, he shows movement first, swiveling his head to stare at me in the soft glow that surrounds us.  

I know what he's thinking. That I'm pushing it, that I'm trying too hard, that I should rest, that I shouldn't go tonight.  But it's only when he speaks that my suspicions are confirmed.  

"Maybe I should go in your place."  Again, his voice is soft, more brotherly than I can remember it being in a very long time.  In fact, the last time I remembered that slight unsure rumble to his whisper was that night in the ICU so many years ago, the night I believed I was going to die.   

I realize how difficult it must have been for him to utter that offering.  But it doesn't matter.  His heart isn't in it and the fact that he allowed it to leave his lips in such an empty manner nurses a spike of anger in my gut.  Six years ago, Jason never would have said something he didn't mean with _every part_ of him.  It wouldn't even have occurred to him to offer unless it was what he wanted, completely. But he did, and it was just another reminder of how wrong everything was now, how backwards. 

I shake my head in the dark, knowing he sees the movement and knowing he disagrees.  

"Emily, you're still recovering.  I don't want you to-"

I find my voice then, the quiver I prepared myself for surprisingly absent.  "It's not a matter of want; it's a matter of survival."  As my words dissolve into air, I turn to him, my eyes seeking out his.  "You used to understand things like this."

I expect his head to sink, expect him to break the eye contact he's so uncomfortable with now, but he doesn't.  "I still do," he whispers through the brief hindering of guilt.  Guilt I _know_ is there.  That in itself is an abomination of who he is- who he _was_.

His meager phrase echoes in my head, goading my emotions to the brink again.  _'I still do'.  _That's right Jason; somewhere deep inside you _he's_ still there, the brother who could navigate this brewing war with his eyes closed is_ still in there.  For God's sakes just do us all a favor and let him out. Stop living this living this _"I'm a changed man"_ joke, and just _be_.  _

"Then act like it." The words slip from my mouth in a heated sputter and I know I've done it.  I've reopened the never-quite-healed wound between us, the wound he silently begs me to leave be, the one I never can.  It hurts too much to leave it alone.  "Be the one person who isn't fighting me tooth and nail on this.  At least give me that much, Jason."

I watch his oh-so-blue eyes glass over a moment and then harden in the dark.  He didn't like that.  I didn't expect him to.  "I never wanted this for you, Emily."

It's true; he didn't want this for me.  Hell, _I don't want this for me.  But its here and its mine, so what good is a statement like that ever going to do?  "Then take it back.  All of it." My hands lay perfectly still crossed demurely in my lap as my angry tongue begins to wage war with the familiar stranger beside me.  Why is it that I'm always contradicting myself?  Sweet and vicious, kind and ruthless, bright and beautiful yet so dark and ugly, clean to the world around but so very dirty on the inside, always dirty now, never clean.  This life won't allow for it, won't let me be.  "It was always yours anyway, Jase.  You know that."_

He nods his head solemnly, silently accepting a truth even his reformed self can't hide from.  This world belongs to him and him to it.  Some things _are written in stone._

The flickering signal of an approaching containership catches my attention, and I reluctantly draw my eyes away from him, continuing on the doomed path I can't help but venture down these days.  "We could walk in there together, Jason."  I cringe at the wistful plea in my own voice.  It's scary sometimes how much I want this.  "Show them you're back in power… Just the sight of you would be enough to send Faith into a panic attack."

I know he's picturing it, wondering what her pointed little face would look like all slacked in shock, but then there's that damn silence again, the one that plays over and over in my head like a broken record of a really lousy old tune.  It's the silence of contemplation and careful dissecting of what to say, not the truthfully impulsive way of speaking that once was his trademark.  Part of me knows I'll always be searching for impulse in his eyes, because finding it would mean everything. 

"This isn't my life anymore, Em.  It can't be," he says, his words like acid to my ears, their message leaving that familiar burn in their wake.  

He _won't_ take it back.  And I think I'm finally starting to realize that.  It doesn't matter how many times I ask or beg.  Its not that he _can't, like he said, it's that he __won't._

He won't let me be free of it, and worst of all, he won't even look at me while he rips away my last hope for normalcy.  God, sometimes I hate him so much.  I hate that he left, I hate that I worshiped him beyond reason.  That I gave up my life to keep his seat warm.  I hate that he never called, or wrote. I hate that I almost forgot the sound of his voice.  

I hate that he came back.  

I hate that he didn't come back sooner.   

"Then I guess I don't have a choice, do I?"  I know how bitter and angry that sounded, but somehow I can't seem to care.

"Let me go for you tonight.  _Just tonight," his voice stiffens in a rare brotherly command.  "By next meeting you'll be stronger."_

"And what exactly am I supposed to say in the mean time, Jason?  The second Faith and Lorenzo see you…"

Jason snaps his gaze to mine again, and as always, I hold my breath, hoping.  "They won't question Johnny," he says abruptly, like he's just had a _'eureka'_ moment.   Johnny?  As in _'It's not that *I* want to go in your place, it's that I don't want *you* to go at all. Period.'_   I suppose I should be used to that massive let down by now, huh?   It's all I ever seem to get.  "He's your second.  Faith will understand you sending him in… considering."

"Oh you mean considering that the raging bitch gunned me down in the street?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth I see his face falter in the moonlight and his eyes cast themselves to the ground.  I can't stand how he shies away from me now.  It makes me want to scream.  "Look, Jase…" I feel my voice dip away at the sound of his nickname on my lips.  God, it's been so long.  How can six years feel like forever?  "I can't sit and stew.  You know I can't.  It goes against every code our-- _my world lives by," I say, my words heavy as I feel that easily reached exhaustion creep into me.  Just speaking takes so much effort now; I have to dig for every word.  "We both know why tonight is so important.  I give her this chance to deny and lie through her perfect little teeth, and __then I deal with her."  I pause and draw in a steadying breath, maybe trying to convince myself not to say my next words, the ones I know will cut him.  Hell, probably rip him wide open.  "The way you should have at the beginning."_

"Emily…" His voice holds that low, warning growl and wisp of a smile tugs at my lips.  That growl is the only thing that resembles _my_ Jason now days. I try to bring it to the surface as often I can.  "Don't do this, not now."

"Don't do what?  Talk to you?  Try to understand why you didn't finish off that walking mistake when it counted.  Because guess what, Jase?  It never stopped _counting_."

"Emily, please…"

And 'Mr. Compliancy' is back, completely washing away every bit of false hope that guttural threat his voice held just a moment ago. His gentle plea is enough to touch off a firestorm in my blood and it brings me out of my chair –albeit not the easiest thing to do anymore.  My eyes are sealed on his completely unresponsive form and I feel my breaths getting heavier, more labored as my eyes begin to prickle with freshly sprung tears, tears I will _not_ let fall.  Not ever.  I only cry for the dead, for Courtney, for the baby …for AJ.  And Jason is _not dead, even if he thinks he is._

"Where is he?"  The question leaves my lips so fast and with such unbidden fury that I can't stop myself, can't hold back.  It would be pointless now. "Tell me, damn-it!" The demand rattles through the still air like a crackle of lightening.  "Where the hell is he, Jason?  Where's the brother who would have killed Faith Rosco where she stood all those years ago, the brother who would gladly walk into that meeting tonight and finally give that bitch exactly what she deserves?  Because I know he couldn't have just _vanished_… I _know_ it."  A dry sob squeaks past my lips as I realize he still won't look at me.  I just want him to look at me, to at least try and explain.  I'd take anything at this point, though all I really want is to know why.  I just want to know _why.  _

My vision blurs with unshed tears and even though I know I shouldn't ask, like before, I just can't help myself. I'm beginning to resemble a runaway train here.  Where has all my control gone to? "Jason… how can you let her live…" God, I hate how small and weak I sound but this is _different_.  This is about someone who actually mattered.  Someone who was _family_.  Someone who we loved. "H-how is that she's still allowed to breathe after what she did?"

His silence eats away at my ears, making my stomach turn with anger and frustration, uncontrollable grief and regret so fierce I think my knees will give out from beneath me.  Without even realizing it, an unsteady hand flies to my neck, clutching blindly at the delicate gold necklace that hangs there.  I twist the emerald charm between my fingers as I close my eyes to him.  Those faded flickers of things I don't want to remember, but won't _ever_ forget, begin their twisted showing against my closed eye lids, just as vivid as that night.  Just as sweet… and then just as horrible.  I don't want the memories to come now, but its been so long that part of me wants to revisit, if only just to make this moment a little more painful, punish myself a little more.  Maybe reignite that ball of revenge in my gut that I've forced to lay dormant for so long…

~

_I feel her arms around me, pulling me into a familiar hug with an unfamiliar purpose.  She's leaving.  And I can't go with her.  Not this time.  _

_She pulls away and taps my necklace with the tip of her finer, her bright, consuming smile never wavering. "I knew you'd like it, Em.  The green... it's perfect with your eyes."_

_I try to match her smile as my fingers clasp around the emerald stone, but I can't.  It's just too bright.  "Courtney, I just… I absolutely adore it.  Thank you so much."_

_I see the faintest tinge of a blush grace her features.  "Nah, don't mention it.  I'm just sorry you can't come with me this time.  Paris _and_ your birthday… we could have really raised some hell, sis."_

_A laugh bubbles up and I pull my arms around myself, shutting out the cold night air. 'Sis?'  Did that always sound so nice, so right?  "I know…" I groan, my nose wrinkling.  "But, alas… the life of an intern is anything but conducive to fun.  It's mostly just work, work, work."_

_The smile on her face fades just the slightest bit, but her eyes… they glow almost as she stares at me, a nearly overpowering warmth radiating from them. I feel her hand fall over mine and she gives it an encouraging squeeze.  "You're going to be an incredible doctor, Em.  I can feel it."_

_"Hey, it's not that big of a deal.  I mean, medicine sort of runs in the family, right?"_

_She shakes her head softly as her brow furrows with concern and I no –beyond a doubt- where her mind has drifted too.  "But so do other things, especially now.  Our name has a reputation, Em.  It would have been so easy…"  Her voice breaks away and the tarmac between us becomes her focus for a long moment. My past dalliance with the Life is still so very hard for her to speak about.  _

_"But it didn't."  She looks back at me and I know she understands it all without me even needing to say it, but I will anyway.  She knows that too.  "When I became a Morgan, I realized what I was stepping into, the life I was becoming a part of.  And I'm not saying the pull wasn't there to let it become more for me, but I also realized that Jason's world, or that part of it at least, couldn't be mine as well.  This business is who he is, as much a part of him as the blue in his eyes.  But just because he's my brother and we have the same name now, doesn't mean that it has to be a part of me too, I get that now.  There are other destinies out there for me, Court.  And I've found mine." _

_I stumble forward a step as the strong blonde wraps me up in a crushing hug.  "God, Em… I'm so very proud of you. We both are."_

_When she pulls back, that glisten of sisterly love shining bright in her eyes, I can't help but admire the person in front of me and marvel at just how close we've become.  When I took Jason's name, Courtney and I became family in every sense of the word.  I never thought I could love anyone in quite the same way that I love Jason, but then Courtney came along, and all that changed.  We were meant to be sisters; I've never believed anything so strongly.  "And I plan on being worthy of it, Courtney.  That's why I have to snatch up every stitch of overtime that comes my way.  Its all fuel for that knowledge fire, you know?"_

_She gives a graceful nod and tucks her hands into her jacket pockets, her long hair whipping around her.  "Doesn't mean I won't miss you, though.  You coming with me for these things has sort of become tradition for us."_

_"I know, and I wish so badly that I could be there for you.  But from what you've told me, this could really be it, Court."  An uncontrollable beam stretches wide across my face.  I'm just so happy for her and for the future she'll be able to look forward to, God willing.  "By the time you get there and see Dr. Lavaux and hear all the wonderful news he has for you, you'll be so giddy with excitement that you won't even notice I'm not there.  I just hope you hurry back so I can join in the rampant celebrating."_

_It's her turn to laugh and she flashes that smile again.  "From your lips to God's ears, Em.  And don't worry… as soon as all this is over, I'm never leaving home again.  Well… at least not for any more foreign medical treatments and consultations," she adds quickly._

_From behind her I see the pilot signal to us from the jet's door.  "Looks like they fixed it," I say.  "You better scoot before you get anymore behind schedule, Mrs. Morgan."_

_She flickers a glance back at the plane before giving me another brief hug.  "I'll see you on Tuesday," she says, her voice so light and happy.  "You take good care of your brother and that gorgeous husband of yours, Mrs. Morgan-Cassadine."  When she pulls back she giggles softly.  "It's funny how hard that is to get used to," she smiles, looking at me with a tipped head.  "The Morgan thing alone was hard enough.  You *so* need to stop changing your name, sweetie."_

_"Don't you have a plane to catch?" I ask, my eyebrows pitching as I swat at her arm. _

_"Yeah, Yeah… I'm goin'."  Her flaxen hair twirls up around her shoulders as she turns and walks away, throwing another smile behind her as she disappears up the boarding stairs of Jason's jet._

_~_

My mind fast forwards and tosses me viciously back into the moment.  The moment I have spent the last six years of my life trying to forget…

_~_

_The scene melds together as I stand, shoulder to shoulder with Jason, watching the jet climb into the night past the faint glow of the runway lamps, until the only thing that marks its path are its flashing lights.  _

_But then the sky erupts in an orange glow and the air shatters around us with a deafening boom.  My legs crack beneath me and I surge to the ground, the cold tarmac breaking my fall.  _

_I look up through my haze and confusion and hear Jason scream as his mouth moves in slow motion.  I reach for him but his jacket slips through my fingers and all I can do is watch as he peels off across the strangely illuminated ground.  _

_And then that's when it hits me.  _

_Courtney._

_Breathing becomes difficult.  Pure terror rips through my body and I'm on my feet again.  I whip my gaze to the sky.  _

_Now I know why it's not so dark anymore._

_As if being held in the sky by the very hand of God, the glowing remnants of pluming amber smoke cast the clouds in haunting orange relief against the empty blackness. Flaming debris pour down against the unyielding ground, meeting the tarmac with that God-awful crunch of steel being twisted and broken.  The black sky is marred orange and red and the ugliest of yellows in their wake; the horrible colors form a dramatic and twisted bloom of destruction high in the winter night.   It looks like someone just set the world on fire.  It looks like hell._

_I scream.  Or at least I think I do, I can't be sure.  The only things I can focus on are the clouds and those demented curls of fiery smoke._

_But I'm looking for the plane.  Where is the plane?  It has to be there, that's all I can think.  It can't just be gone.  _

_She can't just be gone…  _

_~_

But she was.  Courtney was gone.  

_Gone.___

My head spins at the familiar feelings and I have to bite my tongue to steady myself.

As long as I live I'll never be rid of that moment, the moment the closest thing I had to a sister perished with a flash of orange light and a sound that will haunt my dreams forever.  The sound of the world ending.  The world we'd come to know.

He's watching me.  I can feel it, sense his eyes sweeping over my form, knowing from my shuddering and hisses of breath that I'm in it again, reliving it all over again.

He knows this place I'm in well, I imagine.  He's been here before, spent most if not all of the last six years in it and I have to mentally shake myself to drive the point home.

Of course it's worse for him.  Why wouldn't it be?  Courtney was my sister, or as good as.  But she was Jason's _heart, his reason for life.   _

And she died… because of who he was.  

He won't say it; I won't dare entertain the thought for long.  But we both know the truth.  

War was on the brink of erupting all over again after Sonny and Carly spilt town for greener pastures.  Faith got to thinking that just because Sonny had finally packed it in that Port Charles would be hers for the taking.  She even enlisted a bitter and heartbroken Lorenzo Alcazar to join forces with her and dismantle the remnants of Sonny's forgotten empire.

Only it wasn't forgotten.  Jason was at the helm and doing a bang up job.  See, Faith and Lorenzo made the unfortunate mistake of believing Jason was nothing but a glorified henchman, an Enforcer figure head.   So, when he slapped down their attempts at a hostile takeover, all hell broke loose.  A sick exchange of a life for life painted the town's glossy streets red.  The losses were… regrettable, but minute in the scale of things. Yes, I am aware of how horribly insensitive that sounds.  But you have to understand, being apart of this business changes how you perceive things, and even how you feel them.  It changes _you.  See, we- __he lost a few men, but as far as the family unit went, Courtney and I were safe.  The bubble was still intact.  So, all was well._

And for the most part, Jason kept his response minimal, not being one to resort to petty killings of unknowns, no matter what the perception of him.  He may have been ruthless when it came to the dirtier things about the business, but Jason wasn't a reckless murderer.  Human life still meant something to him.

And Faith capitalized on that 'vulnerability' with the calculating cruelty typical of the platinum blonde.

She went after the one thing my brother cared about more than anything else in this world.  

The love of his life.

She ripped Courtney away from us right before our eyes and while we could do nothing but watch, completely helpless to stop it.  

Sure, she never admitted to it, vehemently denied it actually.  But a woman knows. And when I looked into her eyes searching for a flicker of humanity, a spark of remorse, I found _nothing.  Greeted only by the cold darkness of evil.  Evil that was guilty as sin. _

It was then, three days after Courtney's death that my role in Jason's world began to change.  I hungered for involvement, I let the all-consuming pull of vengeance wrap me up and toss me down into the dark with Faith.  All I wanted was to see her dead.  And I never shied away from making that desire known.  Loud and clear.  

By my interest wasn't based purely on avenging Courtney.  A lot of it was about filling a void.  See, that was when Jason began to slip away.  After he realized that the plane had been rigged to explode, everything slowly started to unravel.  He came out of the penthouse less and less, took meetings only when I succeeded in making him go- which wasn't very often.  He withdrew from all of us and it seemed nothing could bring him back.  

I exhausted myself trying to reach him.  And for a little while it worked.  I would sit with him in the dark of the penthouse, sharing tears, just talking about her, him asking me to talk about her.  

It scared me to death.  

A madwoman trying to kill me, a sadistic grandmother-in-law, and an overbearing family hell bent on breaking up my marriage?  _That_ I could handle.  But a brother who had only ever been an unbreakable force in my life, reduced to a whimpering child in my arms…? That ripped me apart in ways I never imagined.  It made me realize that 'dying of a broken heart', was more than just an expression.  Because it was happening to him.  

Gradually, as Jason became more of a recluse, abandoning his duties as Boss, I began to realize that something had to be done.  Johnny O'Brien, now the Jason to my Sonny, took me aside one day and begged me to intervene.  He said that Faith was taking Jason's silence for weakness and the buzz here and abroad was that the PC territory under our control was ripe for a takeover and the Black Widow was a prime candidate for the job.  

Needless to say, that information infuriated me.  No way in hell would I let that disgusting woman, the woman who took Courtney from us, get her murdering hands on my brother's territory or anywhere near his legacy.  

I planned to go to Jason that night, nearly two month's after Courtney's death, and force him to reprise his role, to fight, and to accomplish what had been my ultimate goal since falling into my role as advisor: make Faith pay.  Quite a different goal from a career in medicine as an Oncologist, huh?  See, that's what this business, the Life, does to you.  It blurs your lines; it drags you down and bleeds your hope and your humanity from you.  It distorts and skews your reality until all that's left is the dark and the violence.  It did it to Sonny, it almost cost him Carly.  But somehow Jason was immune to that.  It never took any of those things from him.  Maybe because the 'new' Jason never claimed to have a normal grasp on his humanity, that part of him just didn't work right.  

But I disagree.  Jason does have that part of him, its there and it lives.  I know this because I saw the difference.  I saw Jason before Courtney died, and then after.  I saw the light leave his eyes.

Funny, for a man who wasn't supposed to feel anything but anger, he sure did give a good impression of a grieving and broken widower.

And that brings me back to that night, the night I was going to try and put a stop to it all and heave him out of the shadows for good, bring him up and –if I had to- force him to share in my quest for vengeance.  The quest I believed should have been his, not mine.

But I was too late.

I made the familiar trek up those steps and down that hallway to the penthouse that had practically become my second residence.  His door was open, as usual, allowing the faint hallway light to trickle in on the dusty dark of his bedroom.  Except this time my silent encroachment into the shadows wasn't greeted by my softly spoken name, it was greeted by silence.  

Silence and a note.  

There, on the mirror above Courtney's vanity was a simple white piece of paper taped carefully next to the photo of the four of us (Courtney, Jason, Nikolas, and I) that was wedged in-between the wood frame of the mirror and the cool glass itself.  My eyes lingered on the photo, trying to recapture the warmth and the happiness that we had shared that day, the day of my wedding to Nikolas.  But at that moment, as my shaky fingers grasped that flimsy white piece of paper, I couldn't feel anything but dread, deep and overwhelming burning through my entire body. As I peeled it from the glass the photo flittered loose and floated down, landing in the wastepaper basket.  Looking back, it was probably an omen.

I knew what the letter said without even reading it.  

He left.  He took himself and that damn leather jacket of his and he left, left me to deal with it all on my own.

It was then that I knew what had to be done.  I let the unread note slip from my hand as my decision -the one I regret so fiercely now- was made before the note even hit the floor.  

I would take over for Jason, I would hold his seat and run his territory until he returned, and return he would.  Jason always returned.  Always.  The idea overwhelmed me at first but Johnny assured me that if anyone could do it, I could.  Jason was my brother, after all.  The great Enforcer Morgan turned fearless Mob General.  And suddenly abandoned, his troops needed a new leader.  Johnny and Max pledged allegiance and assistance immediately.

That night I called Myer.  I played it cool, prodding to see if he knew of Jason's flight from town or of any instructions he may have left.  And when I discovered he hadn't, I announced myself acting Boss.  I was accepted with open arms (I always assumed Johnny and Max had a great deal to do with this), if you could believe that, and allowed to take the helm with little to no dissent among the ranks.  In truth I expected more of a battle from Jason's men, the head of the Morgan territory now being run by a woman for the first time in history and all.  But that wasn't the case.  After all, I was a Morgan.  In their eyes, that was all that mattered.

Instead, the real battle erupted on the home front or former home front as the case was.  Edward was furious, Monica and Allan beside themselves, Ned disappointed, clearly.  Skye shocked but careful in showing her displeasure with my decision.  And Grandmother… well, she loved me and while I suspect it pained her to see me wield such power in such an ugly world, she supported me as only she could, with a gentle smile and a soothing hand.  

But Nikolas was the best.  I know he was never comfortable with the idea and that he feared for me, and for our then three-year-old son, but he stood beside me always, never placing himself in front of or behind me.  During those initial months, Nikolas showed me the true meaning of boundless and unconditional love. He was my partner and soon we came to run this town together.  After all, as he had told me one night, "Who better than the Cassadine Prince to guide you through the ruthless ways of the world?".  That was very true, and sometimes having him with me was one of the few things that kept me going, kept me from loosing myself completely.   

But even that soon became too much.  As the realities of my new life began to sink in, and my duties became clearer, I preferred to have him out of it.  In short, I didn't want the man I loved to see me being judge, jury, and –when need be- executioner.  I still wanted to be Emily, his beautiful and feisty little Emily.  I couldn't have him look at me and see all the lives I'd ended, all the people I'd hurt in the name of business.  The idea of Nikolas perceiving me that way killed me, it still does.  

Just another burden in my life, I presume… another self-inflicted side effect of my doomed decision.  I've sorta have gotten used to those.

But back in the here and now I look up and meet my brother's eyes.  He's trying to talk to me as he used to, to say to me all the things his newfound self can't seem to squeeze out.  I see his lips move to part as he considers what must be a scowl on my face.  I'm so tense and so upset now I don't know how it can be anything else.  It certainly isn't a smile.  I haven't truly smiled since that day in the snow, and I probably won't again for a very long time.  

"I don't understand it, Emily," he says finally, his words so soft yet so strong and full of emotion.  "I know what I should've done… what you wanted, but I… Em, I couldn't."  

My eyes glaze at his broken reply.  At least he feels something, I think.  At least he understands what that woman deserves.  That way he can forgive what I'll do to her.  Because for what I have planned for the bitch, he may be the only one.  

His whole body shifts then and he's almost out of his chair, that familiar expression of determination all over his worn face.  "I didn't go anywhere, Em, not really," he says, blindly reaching for my hand in the dark.  It feels like he's trying fix something, to undo what's become of me in that one touch.  He pulls me forward and I'm trying, oh God am I trying to understand.  I know it's not the transformation that I'm still so hopeless waiting for, but it's still _something_, whatever it is.  My breath hitches as I search his eyes for the brother I lost so long ago. "I never left, Emily"

Confusion rips through me.  What is he talking about, _'never left'_?  Of course he left.  He's been gone for nearly six years.  "Jason you more than left, you were _gone… to all of us." I try to pry my hand away but his grip only tightens and he pulls me closer.  He wants me to sit, he wants me to listen, that much I'm aware of.  But before I can listen I need to speak, I need to tell him how much he hurt me.  "You never called Jason, never wrote, nothing.  Six whole years of _nothing_.  I didn't know if you were dead or alive.  Do you even know what that did to me?"_

Nodding slowly, his eyes shoot to the ground again. "You have to understand, Emily," he says, tugging on my hand one final time, not satisfied until I'm sitting again, peering back at him at an even level. "I may have packed up but my mind never left here, never left you."

I can't even explain how deeply those words cut through me, how much they meant.  But even with all they signified to me, it still wasn't good enough, it wasn't a _reason, they didn't explain _anything_.  "Then _why_," I ask, only mildly aware of the raw desperation in my plea.  "Why did you leave me all alone?"  There, the question I've wanted to ask for six years now._

His eyes rake over my face and I can see the uncertainty pooling in them.  Maybe he doesn't even know.  Maybe I'm being horribly unfair here even asking this stupid question to begin with.  "Emily," he says finally, so soft I barely hear him.  "I didn't mean…"he struggles with himself here and I can see the battle going on inside him. "This town, this building even… Em, she's _everywhere_."

Sadness, pain, regret, and a bit of arcane anger flow violently between us by way of our clasped hands, and suddenly I know my own game has just collapsed on me.  This is too real, too _painfully real.  I don't want to play anymore.  I can't go back there, can't see how broken he is, can't feel that all over again, not now.  Funny, I asked the question, I pushed, but I'm still not ready for it, not ready for any of it.  I rip my hand away and get to my feet, refusing his attempts to help me.  _

I got this far without him.  I don't need him now.   

"Emily--"

"I'm going and that's final."  By the look on his face I know I've successfully changed the subject.  His eyes harden again, all softness gone and a strange form of relief comes over me.  It's better this way.  What on earth was I thinking trying to go back down _that_ road, trying to reopen those wounds?  I'm such a fool… fighting suits us so much better now.

He steps forward, but I intercept his movement and go for the door, my back to him, my hand poised on the knob.  "You may be Boss now," he says from directly behind me, tiny hints of his old self seeping into his tone.  But that all they are, _hints_. "But you are still me sister and I still care about your—"

"Do not!"  The roar that escapes me even manages to make me flinch.  "You gave up the right to care six years ago," I say, pivoting to him, my voice reaching an even and somewhat disinterested tone.  The sudden transformation in me has pulled his brow into a confused frown.  Good.  I want him to be just as lost as I am.

"That wasn't about you," he bites out angrily, and then curses himself for loosing that precious new control of his.

"No, you're right.  I wasn't about me at all, Jason" I say, my voice never wavering. "It just ruined me."  I blink and then pull the door open, stepping clear of his path.  The suggestion in it is clear.  

I want him out.  Now.

For a moment that feels like an eternity he stares at me like I'm some horrible mistake, some distorted imposter wearing his beloved sister's face. After he finally leaves I shut the door and fall against it.  With closed eyes I feel my legs give slowly as I slide to the ground in an exhausted heap.  

I am a horrible mistake.  I am an imposter.  I'm cruel, selfish, hard, and brutal.   Haven't you been listening?  I'm _nothing like the gentle and caring girl I used to be or the woman I wanted to become.  I'm Emily Morgan-Cassadine.  I'm the ruthless bitch who rules Seventy-five percent of the Port Charles Underworld._

I don't have a heart anymore.  

And now even Jason knows it.

~#~

(a/n)  See what I mean about dark?  I just wanted to clear up a few things.  One:  The prologue said this would be about restoring Jason, and that's very, very true.  But -and I think this is a given and something that will happen inevitably- in pursuit of that goal, of bringing her brother back into the Life, Emily will restore herself as well.  Because, and I think you can plainly see, she is a _drastically different person now, very bleak and a brutal realist.  She's massively hurt by Courtney's death, Jason actions, and furious with herself for choosing to pick up where Jason left off.  She hates what the Life has done to her and the person she wanted to be- which, given Emily's true character, was the only way I could do things in order to keep this even vaguely true to form.  She's very near a breaking point here and barely, __barely dealing with what being in power for six years has turned her into.  But, as I'll show later, her life does have a few redeeming qualities, Nikolas and her son being two of them.  But even that is on dangerous ground.  This story will be about healing.  But for the characters to heal, I'll have to damage them considerably first, and share more history as we go.  A lot of things have transpired in PC over the last six years. Just be patient, all will unfold eventually. :o)_

Two: AJ.  Yes, he's dead.  And further confrontations with Emily's family will show more on this, but that will come later.  

Anyway, let me know how you liked this chap, and please feel free to ask questions as I know this fic must be horribly confusing if you don't reside in my head where, thankfully, I have it all mapped out. *lol*  Reviews are good for the soul and input is always welcome! Take care! ~Loke

**Next Chapter:** Jason's POV: confrontations of the Cassadine kind and a crashed meeting.  


	3. Jason

**Fettered Ties**

**Author:** Loke

**Email:** abandoned-by-sanity@pixelcherry.com  

**Rating:** R (for later elements)

**Summary:**

**Feedback:** loved and appreciated as always!  It helps to know what you guys think, good or bad.  Just be gentle, that's all I ask, lol.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, and despite my many pleas, I still own noting associated with "General Hospital".  I know. . . .sucks to be me. 

**(A/N) **And here we are with chapter two. Just a couple things I want to clear up.  Okay, issue one:  The tense.  I have no freaking idea how the last chapter ended up in present tense, but it did.  Sorry about that for those who were bothered by it (myself included).  Anyway, this chapter is all past tense.  Now I know this may be confusing, and I apologize for switching gears like this, but I just could not keep writing in present tense, it was getting on my last nerve.  

Issue two:  Jason.  Be prepared, _he is not the cuddly Enforcer we all remember in this_.  He is doing the one thing that the Jason we know would never do; he's putting up a front.  See, the "new Jason" is sort of crap.  Inside --and I think you'll see-- he's pretty basically the same.  A little off, but that was my intention.  He's damaged, and in more than just the traditional sense.  So, please be patient with him.  I realize he's OOC, that's the whole point.  

Okay, well, that's it for now, enjoy, and don't be afraid to let me know what you think, make suggestions, anything at all.  Oh, and I'm sorry if this chap feels a little weak, my inspiration kinda keeled over this past couple weeks, even the stuff I've been writing for SIB is really getting on my nerves.  

**Reviewers:**

Thanks about a million times to everyone who reviewed **(Marian/Bushlaboo, Megan, stephie1974, Shamira, GirlFearless, A)**!!  You guys rock, big time!! 

And in response to the question that I received:  **_A_**, I totally get where you're coming from about Nikolas.  When I first started writing this, I was like "Wait a sec, would Nik really just let her do this?"  But then, as I started to watch the NikE story unfold on the actual show and I got to see just how deep his love for Emily runs, and I realized that maybe he would.  I mean think about it this way:  Emily would have been so wracked with grief.  She lost Courtney, her sister-in-law and essentially one of her dearest friends, and her brother just split town without a word.  The girl is going through some major separation issues.  Then the threat of Faith starts to loom even nearer and something in Emily sorta panics and snaps (and we know Emily's impulsiveness can most definitely lead her to do foolish things).  She pledges her life to the business out of sheer desperation.  She believes whole-heartedly that Jason is coming home, and she does not want to see Faith take what belongs to him.  Nikolas sees this desperation and while you can be totally sure he wasn't exactly happy with it, he loves her above all else, and that love allowed him to make this giant concession, however reluctant it was.  He took a hit here and I'm not flying blind to that fact.  Nikolas has lost a lot because of Emily's choice, his unborn child namely, as well as normalcy-which we all know he strives for. So, trust me when I say that the story is far from over and more will be said about Nikolas feelings in future chapter (from the Prince himself even).  Anyway, I hope that helped and thank you so, so much for reviewing. :o)  I hope you continue with the story, and please, feel free to ask me anything you like.  Thank you! ~Loke.  

**~#~**

**Chapter Two: "grin and bear it"**

**~#~**

It was times like those, just after leaving her, feeling as if I'd only managed to break her even more, that I wondered if coming home was really the right thing for me to do.  I mean, what was I really doing there, huh?  I wasn't in power; I wasn't even a low man on the pole anymore.  I sure as hell wasn't doing anything constructive.  I wasn't being the brother, the _savior_ my sister wanted-no, _needed_, me to be.  I was no better than a shadow, a bad memory screwing with her life all over again.    

Sighing angrily, I ran an absent hand through my hair and for the first time since I left Emily's penthouse, I looked around-_really_ looked around.  Somehow, I had found myself at the docks; my feet were perched over the pier's edge, the tips of my boots staring back at me over the icy water.  Inside-deep inside, I felt like laughing.  This was how out of sorts my visits with Em always left me, not knowing which was up or even if I was walking straight into freezing water during the dead of winter.

_Brilliant, Morgan.  How bout you finish the job-tilt yourself in and be done with it.  Anything's gotta be better than this. . . ._

That malicious little voice in my head had been gaining steady speed since my return.  The volume seemed to be kicking it up a notch, too.  Both thoroughly annoying points. 

I didn't back away at once.  I just kinda stayed there, teetering, letting all those stupid feelings, _memories_ wash over me.  It was always the same thing after seeing her.  I'd try to get her to stop, to take it easy, and then she'd get angry, downright scary with me, and then I'd leave, feeling a bit like how Charlie Brown must've felt all those time Lucy pulled that football out from under him and he ended up flat on his back: like I should have known better.  Oh, come on, don't look so surprised.  Yeah, I'm a grown man who likes comics.  So, sue me.  They're good for emptying out your head, for forgetting.  You read them and can get lost in the nonsense of it.  You don't have to think. . . . don't have to feel.

_Sure as hell wish I had one with me now. . . ._

Shaking my head, I gave a small shudder as I let my gaze sweep the lake's surface and hover over the doomful presence that was Spoon Island.  God, that thing stuck out like a sore thumb, even at night, marring the pristine horizon with the sharply jutting turrets and climbs of Wydemere's roof like gothic swords thrust menacingly into the moonlit sky.  The whole place exuded this dark fury, wholly unsettling and, well, just. . . . _creepy_, really.  But it wasn't always like that, all gloomy and threatening; I got to find that little fact out first hand, thanks to Emily, actually.  

It was the night of her wedding to Cassadine and the snow was thick on the ground, frost clung to everything.  I remembered feeling like time had frozen or something.  I mean, there wasn't a breath of wind, and every branch, every little leaf, was sheathed in a layer of crystal ice.  Emily, Courtney, and Elizabeth (yeah, go figures, huh?) were upstairs in her rooms, putting the finishing touches on her.  Cassadine and the Spencer kid were off somewhere doing that brotherly bonding crap, I guess.  They had invited me, but. . . . _come__ off it_.  Me, trail after those two knuckleheads like I belonged?  No thank you. . . .  

So, instead, I found myself outside in one of the gardens, gazing out at the waterfront longingly and feeling totally uncomfortable in the constricting jacket and tie Emily and Courtney picked out for me.  Damn monkey suit. . . .

~

_"Are you planning on making a break for it?"_

_The angelically humorous voice floated through the air and I turned away from the crashing waves below, greeted by the stunning image of my wife.  _

_Courtney smiled at me, that bright and overwhelming smile so full of warmth and love it made me feel like I could do anything and come out okay.  That's what her love did for me.  Cliché as it sounded, it made me feel invincible.  _

_Beaming at me she did a small turn in the snow, the hem of her flowing dress twisting around her ankles.  She looked like a goddess, a goddess wrapped in the most incredible shade of green I had even seen.  Her bright blonde hair cascaded around her in soft waves; the moonlight playing against it gave her this otherworldly look.  Like she was angel dressed in shimmering silk.  _

_My breath wouldn't come_.  I'm going to suffocate_, that's what I remembered thinking_.  Right here, in the snow, I'm going to die. . . . happy._  "I. . . . you. . . ." My mouth went to form the words but apparently not being able to breathe also hindered one's ability to churn out recognizable speech._

_She laughed and -if possible-grinned even wider.  "So, I take that to mean you like. . . .?" she asked, her eyes sparkling like stars with that distinct mix of innocence, mischievousness, and utter obliviousness that drove me wild.  She was absolutely perfect, and she had no idea._

_"Like?"__  I asked, my body moving toward her all on its own.  "Oh, its way past like. . . ."_

_She rolled her eyes and let out little giggle as I advanced on her like a predator.  Smiling like the cat that just caught the canary, I snaked a careful arm around her waist and pulled her flush up against me.  "You look beautiful," I whispered into her ear, pleased to find my breath against her cheek still brought that faint pink tinge to her face.  "Absolutely beautiful."_

_Batting her eyelids, she tugged playfully at my tie, a smirk ghosting over her painted lips.  "You're not so bad yourself, Morgan."_

~

See?  That was why I couldn't afford to think, because it always led me back there. . . . back to where I didn't want to be because I _could never_ be there again.  God, just being back in town was like dangling a T-bone steak in front of a starving man only to rip it away at the last second.  I was teasing myself with things that had no chance of ever happening. 

And _my_ presence was doing the same thing to my sister.

Yeah, don't think I didn't pick up on the desperation in her voice, the silent plea in her eyes.  I saw all of it, every single glimmer of unshed tears, and every quiver her lip made when she thought no one was looking.  And I hated myself for not being able to give her what she wanted more than anything in the world, to be set free.

Dropping my gaze and narrowing it upon the tops of my shoes again, I let the wind push me forward.  Not enough to fall in the icy currents below, but enough to remind why I was there in the first place.  My sister hated me for leaving her and despised me for refusing to take back the Business.  But why exactly was it _my_ job to set her free, huh? Why was it up to me to take the reins again, _why_?  I only left.  I never held a gun to her head.  I never made her drag her family through this mess.  I never asked her to take my place. . . . even if I knew exactly why she did.

A strange wave of shame mixed with guilt attacked me and I slipped my eyes closed.  Emily loved me.  She loved me with such purity and such all encompassing loyalty that she would have done anything-_anything_-for me.  I had but to ask, and even that was just a formality. 

And worst of all, I think part of me knew that.

Maybe that was why I took off like I did, without so much as a glance back or a spare thought as to what would become of the Morgan Empire.  Maybe-just maybe-somewhere deep inside, I knew she'd handle it, just like she took care of everything else after Courtney died.  Maybe I was just tired of being the one who looked after everything, maybe I just wanted someone else to do it so I could just rest, just _be_.  Maybe I just wanted to breathe. . . .

But, _please_ believe me when I say that if I had known just how far Emily would take things, where she would end up. . . . 

Sobered by the thought, I rock backwards on my heels.  There isn't a part of me, embittered or not, that ever would have placed my sister at the forefront of all this, _ever_.  Six years down the road, it didn't matter; my first instinct would always be to protect her, to save her. 

I loved her the same way she loved me.  There wasn't anything I wouldn't do, but _this_. . . .  Being here turned everything around, threw it all back in my face.  I was just so damned confused that I had no idea what was the right thing to do.  I could handle one meeting.  That much I could take.  But any more than that. . . .?  I shuddered at the thought.  I couldn't dive back into the Life; it was all too fresh for that.  It would feel too much like being trapped in some reoccurring nightmare, waiting for the world to go to hell again.  But what was I supposed to do, huh?  Emily wouldn't let me take her place -not that I was too keen on the prospect to begin with-- and she straight up _refused_ to back down.  Was I just supposed to leave her to the wolves?  Was I just supposed to abandon her all over again and let her face the woman who took so much from _all of us_ all by herself?  But did I even dare risk what going in with her would signify to everyone involved?  

_Goddamn-it_, I had no clue what to do, except that either way I would end up completely and utterly fu--

"Uncle Jason!"  The joyful little cry pierced my thoughts mid-expletive and I wheeled around just in time to be blindsided by a ridiculously happy dark-haired boy who was smiling a smile identical to my sister's.  

"Demetri," I said, stepping quickly away from the piers edge and wrapping the little bugger up in a bear hug.  He really was a great little kid, so damn well adjusted.  Imagine that.  "What are you doing out here, buddy?  Where did your guards. . . .?" My questioned died in my throat when I saw a group of suited men looking intimidating at the dock's far end, their attentions split between the boy in front of me and something behind them.

He sniffled a bit and itched at his reddened nose with a mittened hand.  "Daddy and I just went to go see Uncle Lucky and Aunty Lulu.  Did you know Lulu's getting married?" He wrinkled his nose and dropped his voice a bit, his cherubic face all of a sudden looking grave. "Daddy is really, _really_ mad at her," he said in a whisper.  "Uncle Lucky is too.  Mommy says Daddy's being a prude." Inquisitive brown eyes clamped on mine with the sort of innocent intensity that only a child can pull off. "Uncle Jason, what's a prude?"

"Your daddy seems to be a pretty close fit, little guy," I laughed, ruffling his hair and actually allowing myself to crack a smile.  Funny how kids can make you forget damn near everything, huh?  Handy things to have around, kids.  "I think your mommy may be on to something there, buddy."

It was then that I noticed another dark-haired figure looming behind the boy, wearing Demetri's same eyes and nose.  "Nikolas."  The greeting was simple and stiff.  There was a time when things were easier between us, never friendly by any means, but. . . . workable.  Apparently we didn't even have those strained bonds to fall back on, but then I can't say I really blamed him for where the last six years landed us.  That was me.  

"Jason." he nodded and managed a ghost of a smile.  I honestly didn't even expect that much, but something told me the little guy I had attached to my side had more to do with it than anything else.  "What brings you to the docks this late," he asked.  The coldness in his voice wasn't lost on me.  Why should it have been? He nearly killed me the first time he saw me again, this was just in keeping with the new way of things between us. "Not thinking of deserting Emily again are we?"

Now, see, I realized that was aimed to sting.  But my absence found me a different man, a more mature and -most importantly-a _tired_ man, one who didn't have energy enough to take the bait, not after the row I just had with Emily.  "No," I said simply, making sure to keep myself calm. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Nikolas was always more annoying that upsetting, really. "I just came from her actually." 

"Ahh. . . ." He crossed his arms over his chest and his face became a thoughtful frown. "I take it that means you tried to. . . . _dissuade_ her from attending tonight's meeting?"  It was odd, you know, being on the outside of the bubble like that, looking at someone -who wasn't me- and knowing he had more clout in this town than I did.  I didn't think I'd ever get used to that.

"I still don't think it's a good idea for her to walk into that so soon after. . . ." I caught myself as I felt a pair of curious brown eyes latch onto my face.  I shouldn't have brought that up in front of the kid.  According to Emily he didn't deal with the attempt on her life very well.  He still had nightmares, bad ones.  Those nightmares would probably follow him well into adult hood, if he managed to shake them at all.  Seeing your mother nearly killed right in front of your eyes, and in such a graphic way. . . .? That sort of thing has a way staying with you, whether you like it or not.  Suddenly I felt another one of those spikes of guilt attack me. Who knew leaving all those years ago would ripple out like _this, _reaching so far as to have an impact on an innocent little boy like Demetri?  It made me wonder how many other lives my flight from PC affected. . . . _ended_.

"Well, then perhaps you should accompany her," he suggested serenely, his eyebrows betraying his voice and pulling together into something dangerously resembling a glare.  

"Not you too," I sighed, shaking my head lightly.   And there I was thinking he didn't want me anywhere near Emily. . . .  "I though you of all people would hate the idea of--"

"Look, Jason," he interrupted, holding up a gloved hand. "I _assure_ you, the last thing I want is for you to find your way back into her life.  There is no love lost between us so I won't pretend as much, but for some _unknown_ reason my wife still feels tied to you, _safe_ with you.  I believe she would take great comfort in having you with her tonight."  God, I could almost hear the snicker in his voice.  I would have been surprised if I hadn't known the true intent behind his words.  "Surely you could manage this one thing for her, Jason.  It is a rather small favor to ask, don't you think, in comparison to what you owe her?"

He motioned for Demetri to come to him and my suddenly free hands balled into fists at my sides.  Why couldn't these people just respect that I didn't know if wanted any part of this yet?  Was it really that hard to grasp?  I may have offered, but only under the pretense that she wouldn't accept.  Yes, wrong of me, I _know_.  Regardless, this _wasn't_ my problem anymore. . . . "I'm not her lieutenant, Nikolas, Johnny is," I snapped, loosing a touch of that new _control_ I loved so much.  "Why not send _him_?"

Nikolas laughed then, small and bitter.  "Johnny is loyal, to a fault even, but he is also entirely too reckless where Emily is concerned.  He can't be trusted to control himself when faced with Faith or Alcazar.  As it is, I've had to practically threaten him in order to ensure his restraint when dealing with them.  His thirst for revenge borders on the unhealthy.  You are far better suited for this, Jason." That frown of his morphed into a cruel, mocking smile.  Did I mention how much I hated the Cassadines?  Excluding Emily, of course.  She never was a Cassadine, not truly.  She was a _Morgan_.  That much I could still hold onto. "We all know you won't let a silly thing avenging your sister get the better of your _impassiveness_, now, will you?"

My jaw clenched viciously. Maybe I had judged a little too early on the whole 'Nikolas-was-never-upsetting' thing.  I stared at him, turning on a bit of the 'old Jason', with that ice cold glare I used to throw at people like Nikolas, people I _really_ didn't like.   To his credit, the Prince held my stare quite valiantly, pouring just as much contempt into it as I was.  I didn't like being pushed, he didn't like -or was to- being defied.  It seemed 'Mr. Royalty' grew into his new station in life quite nicely. It looked like being a 'Mob other half' agreed with him, just that much more power for him to wield.  And we all knew how much the Cassadines _loved_ power.   

"Think it over, Jason," he said coldly, breaking eye contact for moment to smile reassuringly down at little Demetri, who, to _his_ credit, seemed to be taking the encounter in stride.  "Who knows, maybe you could actually do right by your sister for a change."

Holding his son's hand tightly, Nikolas walked past me and up the dock stairs, his four massive guard dogs following obediently behind.  The last one stopped as he passed and looked at me.  It took a second to register the face.  

"Max," I said, holding out my hand to an old friend and willing some of my anger to ebb away.

"Jason."  Now this greeting was decidedly warmer, but, there was still a hint of apprehension.  He was, after all, loyal to my sister, and in all their eyes, I was someone who had wronged her.  The absolute last person who ever should have done that.   "It's good to see you, Sir."

"Easy on the 'Sir', Max."  The title brought back too many memories of things used to be, a road I wasn't altogether interested in venturing down again. "I'm not Boss anymore, you don't answer to me."

The other man shrugged his shoulders and pocketed his hands.  It really was quite cold out now, mid-February and all. "Nikolas does have a point, though," he said tentatively.  "It would be good to have you in-house again, back in the mix"

My eyebrows rose disbelievingly.  What conversation had he been listening to?  "Is that what he said?" I asked, swiveling to look back at the stairway "'Cause I think I caught something a little different." 

"Nikolas is just looking out for his wife, Jason," he said, his voice a little firm, the apprehension from before growing into defense.  I didn't hold it against him, it was his job. "You of all people know how family loyalty works.  He may not be fond of the idea, but he recognizes the necessity, the greater good it represents."

"Necessity," I asked, smiling a bit.  Hey, I'm not made of stone.  It felt good to be wanted, even if this was the last thing I felt like being wanted for. "You guys really think my coming back is _necessary_?"  

The guard loosened a bit, and, bearing his own semi-smile, said: "Why not? Somebody needs to bust Johnny down to size.  Ever since he made Lieutenant he's been a real pain in the ass, you know. . . . the cocky bastard." He laughed, shaking his head, and I knew it's all in jest.  Johnny couldn't have been that way if he tried, too many years of making caring after what other people loved his life.  A second or two of silence passed and Max's face suddenly grew serious, thoughtful even.  "Emily, she, uh. . . . she's got a tough night ahead of her, Jason.  She could do with a friendly face."

"You sure you got the right guy for that, Max?"  It was true.  Our last visit wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy.  My going would only hurt her; only give her ideas she couldn't have. 

"Just think on it," he said, inclining his head before resuming on his way.  "I'll see you around, Jason."

I nodded as he turned away.  "Yeah. . . . around." 

Max disappeared up the stairs and around the corner.   And then it was just me again, just me and my guilt.  We were getting to be quite a pair, the two of us.  Funny how something you're not supposed to be able to experience can feel so crappy.

Sighing, I turned my attention to the freezing water of the lake again; let my eyes get lost in the dark water's rolling currents.  

Going it alone to the meeting was never an option, not truly.  That's why I offered and that's why she didn't accept.  No one but a Boss's Lieutenant or Enforcer could go in as a substitute, and I was neither.  Me sauntering in there all by lonesome could've set the whole freaking city on fire.  Faith would have lost her mind thinking that I was back at the helm.  If I went without Emily that night it would have set before Faith and Alcazar what they would've undoubtedly perceived as the beginnings of a strike against them

It would've lead to war.  It would've opened the floodgates on both sides and whether I liked or not, all hell would've broken loose, _again_.  

Only, I would _not_ have been able to walk away from it this time.  I would've been in it waist-fucking-deep and without a chance in Hell of getting out clean.  

But even if I was just to _accompany_ my sister, things still could've gotten ugly, _very_ ugly.  With Faith there was no way to be sure of any one reaction. She had already proven -_twice_-- just how completely insane she was.  I would've been going only to lend support, and might've ended up putting Emily in even more danger than she already was.   

In every single sense of the word, I was _trapped_, and she _knew_ it.  _Son of a bitch_, they all did. . . .

_Goddamn-it,_ I _did not_ want to do _any_ of this. . . . 

Unbidden, Nikolas' words ripped through my mind like a jet engine.  _'. . . .Who knows, maybe you could actually do right by your sister for a change. . . .'_

But if I _didn't_ do this, she'd be alone.  How could I do that to her again? 

Settling my gloved hands into my pockets, I backed away from the pier's edge and started out for the warehouse.  The meeting would start in a little over an hour.

Max was right; I did remember how family loyalty worked.  And I may not have liked any of it, but I couldn't let her down again.  I'd already done too much of that.

~#~

TBC. . . .  

Hope you liked it, sorry if you didn't. . . . I'll try to do better next time! ~Loke

Next Chapter:  Nikolas POV.  Family time with the Cassadines (Emily/Nik/Demetri), a little young love, and a slight case of feuding ideas. . . . or was that ideals?


	4. Nikolas

**Fettered Ties**

**Author:** Loke

**Email:** abandoned-by-sanity@pixelcherry.com  

**Rating:** PG-13, for violence and dark themes.  (Will change later on, maybe, if I get complaints)

**Summary:** Courtney was gone. Grief drove Jason away, and, in his absence, I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, _for_ my brother, in _his_ name and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take. And it nearly killed me.****

**Feedback:** loved and appreciated as always!  It helps to know what you guys think, good or bad.  Just be gentle, that's all I ask, lol.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, and despite my many pleas, I still own noting associated with "General Hospital".  I know… sucks to be me. 

(a/n) Okay... so, I'm back.  This chapter is all through our beloved Nikky's eyes.  Yes, we finally get to see how he views his wife, the good and the bad. And yes, there is bad and it is coming.  Big time.  For everyone. I said early on that this fic was going to be harsh, and that still rings true.  After this chap, things will ratchet up a bit, and expect for most of the play-by-plays to be from Emily's head.  Mostly because it's about her quests, you know?  Her quests for vengeance, for normality, for her brother, for peace. And then secondly, because it's much easier for me to get inside Emily's head.  My friend Dena says I'm treating this thing too much like therapy, like an emotional outlet.  *lol*  Meh, she's probably right.  I've been saying it for years: My head=damn scary place to be, lol.  There's a lot more of me inside this bleak Emily than I'd ever dream to admit.  I think that's why this story has gotten under my skin so much, why I take hits against it so personally.  Anyway, enough with my crappy, self-indulgently grim mood… It's just been one of those days, you know, where you're pretty sure just about everybody sucks?

Anyway…

To **Marian** and **Shamira**, thank you both so much for reviewing the last chap.  I was getting rather discouraged at the lack of response, but if you guys still want more, then more I shall give. ^__^ I hope you like this chapter.  It's still dark, but has lighter moments, too.  Much hugs, ~Loke    

**~#~**

**Nikolas' POV**

**~#~**

"Mommy!"  

I watched as Demetri tore away from me and to where Emily was sitting on the couch, that brilliant smile of hers stretched wide across her beautiful face.  But as breathtaking as it--as _she_ was, the image she created stirred a dull ache in my gut.  

She tried so hard then, put _so much_ effort into it.  Into things that should've been easy.  But, that for her just weren't anymore.  I wished sometimes, that I could pinpoint the moment when it all began to unravel so hopelessly—even though I had a pretty decent idea of when that was-- just so I could someway, _somehow_, stop it from falling apart and fix it.  Change it all so that she wouldn't have to be so hurt on the inside anymore, so that we all wouldn't have to be so hurt.

"Hey, angel," she greeted our son as he carefully wrapped his little arms around her frame.  I saw her wince and the ache inside me only grew as painful images flashed unbidden through my mind. Memories can be horrid things sometimes.  

"That was a short visit, did everything go all right?"  She was looking at me as she said this with that arched brow_, 'you-better-not-have-done-what-I-think-you-did'_ look on her face.   I had to smile, marveling for the billionth time at how up and down everything in our lives rode.  Bad then good, then awful, then good again.  After six years, most people would be tired of the drama, I think.  But me?  Well, it didn't matter if I was or not.  My life was what it was.  I made my choice, be it the right choice or not.   

Suddenly, as I stood locked in a stare with my wife, Demetri's attention was diverted when he saw his nanny (and also the object of his hopeless affections), Beverly, at the top of the stairs.  His mother's question quickly falling away, our son took off like a shot for the tall, pretty, blonde girl, all smiles, of course.  I shook my head lightly at the sight.  Blondes…I could only hope he got over that obsession a little faster than his father did.

With our son having successfully forgotten we existed, Emily was free to turn her complete attention on me.  I could feel her eyes boring into me, measuring my every move, every tick.  It was an unfortunate trait she shared with her hapless brother; one I never remembered her having before Courtney died.  

"How did it go, Nikolas?"  Her voice was insistent but noticeably heavy, and I didn't even have to look at her to know her arms were crossed.  She always did that when she wanted to seem firm with me, like she really 'meant business', or when she wanted to artfully change the subject before it swayed too near to her.  I found both the gesture and the attempt positively adorable, to be completely honest.  She could put up that façade to the outside world all she wanted, but I knew the truth.  Emily, _my_ Emily, was still just a girl who loved too much and felt too deeply.  A girl who gave her whole heart to the cause—whatever it may be—and who almost always ended up paying for it dearly in the end.  And, yes, she was Mob royalty now, as was I, but her status and her new demeanor didn't deflect anything in private.  It couldn't.  We both knew each other too damn well.  And that's why I knew we'd end up talking about what had just happened with my brother and sister, whether I liked it or not. And how I knew our conversation would eventually meander toward matters of her ingrate brother.  Because that was just the way it was with us.  Nobody won the argument or the plea for avoidance, one of us just grudgingly surrendered, until the other one caved in spite of themselves.  It was a comfortable cycle. Not good, not bad, just us.   

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, shedding my coat and gloves to sit beside her on the couch, knowing full well that our routine was underway. 

Her eyes hardened imperceptibly but then faltered back to warm, inviting brown as she smiled gently at me, her hand finding mine. There was that up and down factor again, that silent push and pull.  We could ping pong back and forth so easily that at times I couldn't be entirely sure if she wanted to hug me or push me as far away as possible.  But at that moment I was just glad it was the former. "You first," she practically whispered. "You were already in a sour mood when you left.  And, judging from the brevity of your visit with Lucky and Lulu, I'm willing to wager it didn't' exactly go well." She sighed knowingly and rested a gentle hand on my nape.  "Nikolas, if you don't talk about this…"

I sighed despairingly and ran a hand through my hair.  See what I mean?  This was us.  She always knew when I had to get things out even if it was the last thing I wanted to do, when I had to vent—_or else_.  As I said before, we knew each too well.  So well it managed to be scary sometimes.  Good scary, reassuring scary, the kind of scary I wouldn't have traded for anything in the world, but still unnerving all the same.  "I just don't get it, Em," I said, a hand finding its way into my hair for the hundredth time that day, tugging and rubbing nervously, tiredly.  At this rate I would be bald by Christmas.  "She only just turned nineteen… why, _why_ would she want to get married _now_?" 

Emily's face softened even more as she made a conscious effort to still my worrying hand, securing both of mine within tiny the cradle of hers.  "She's in love, Nikolas.  Surely you remember what that feels like…"

"Don't do that," I snapped, narrowing my eyes.  "We're not talking about you and me; we're talking about my _sister_.  You know, the little girl who I happen to share guardianship of with my brother--"

"Used to."

"That's irrelevant, Emily.  Lulu is too young to get married--"

"Not in the eyes of the sate." 

"--and as her guardian--"

"Former guardian--"

"_Whatever_." I almost felt like laughing there.  I can't even tell you how I treasured seeing her that way, playful, free of the shadows.  Those moments were like gold to me.  I remember every single one.  "One stupid year doesn't change the fact that she is still a child.  How can I allow my baby sister to make such a horrible mistake?"

"Nikolas…" her tone was soothing but reprimanding all at once.  She didn't see eye to eye with me on this and that fact was more than a little upsetting to me. This was Lulu, for God's sakes, _Lulu_.  She couldn't get married; she was still ten years old with pig-tails.  Only…she wasn't. "Nikolas, she _loves_ him.  She doesn't see this as a mistake.  And how can you be sure that it's even a mistake at all, hmm?  How can you really make that call?"

"Easy," I said, anger bubbling at up at the mere thought. "He's ten years older than her."

"Love knows no number--"

_What?_  That had to be the most ridiculous… "A decade!  Emily, a whole decade!  How is that okay?"  I knew I was yelling, but I couldn't seem to care.  How could she be so impassive about this?  But then I remember she was impassive about everything.  Just another lovely parting gift courtesy of that bastard brother of hers. 

"He's a good man, Nikolas.  And he's very much in love with her."

"Yes, _man_, Emily. A _man_ who's only four years younger than me and who also happens to be deeply involved in the Business."  Did I forget to mention that?  Yeah, my only sister was getting married to one of my wife's employees.  Let me tell you, it was truly disturbing sometimes to see just how far the Life had permeated my surrounding worlds, worlds that _never_ should have been touched by what she did, by what I did.  _Oh, God_.  My sister was going to be a _Mob wife._  Suddenly my stomach did a very violent lurch and my eyes slipped closed.  I didn't want this for her.  She was too young to know all the ugly truths of our world.  Hell, I still didn't want to know…  "Emily, I just can't handle this…"

Through half-lidded eyes I saw my wife tip her head to the side and regard me carefully.  "The fact that Lulu is getting married or the fact that it's to her bodyguard?" God, leave it to Emily to cut right to the bone…

"Both," I snapped, maybe a little too forcefully if the sharply set jaw my wife was sporting was any indication. "She's a _baby_…" I looked at her beseechingly, silently begging for her to understand that I could not allow another woman I cared about to be dragged down and suffocated by the bleak and distorted world that surrounded us.  I failed my wife, how could I let it happen to my sister as well?  "An _innocent_… She shouldn't be a part of this…"

"Her _'being a part of this'_ is not a given, Nikolas.  We can keep her out of it.  Eric can do that, just give him the chance."  I sometimes wondered why her championing spirit for young love wasn't extinguished with everything else.  It sure would have fit.  I glared at her; she merely smiled again, that soft, familiar, deceptive smile.  "And as far as the 'baby' part goes, she's only one year younger than I was when we got married."

God how I hated it when she made sense.  She was right, _of course_.  Lesley Lu didn't have to be privy to our inner workings, we could shield her.  It was possible.  But I was still not buying into the true love factor.  It was all just too sudden.  And if it wasn't, I swear to God I'll kill the dirty old bastard myself.  He'd been her guard since she was _fourteen_. My head swam as the world was successfully thrown askew again, and I skimmed a hand over the rising uneasiness in my stomach.  Why did _that_ possibility never cross my mind before? 

With a deep breath I forced myself to calm down.  Somewhere, buried under all the big brother bravado, I realized that I was being completely irrational.  But know this.  It was the necessary kind of irrational, all right?  The kind the kept the world from going to Hell.  "That's different," I protested, turning over Emily's hand in mine, twisting the diamond on her finger gently.  "We were best friends for years before we feel in love.  And when we did… well, we both knew there weren't any other options for us, Emily."  I paused and drifted my gaze upward to link warmly with hers.  "We were destined for marriage, for each other."

I saw her eyes pool in fond remembrance and my heart leapt.  Sometimes I could still see glimpses of that bright-eyed, determined young woman from so long ago.  She was just buried under so many levels of sadness, grief, and regret that those glimpses were few and far between, _so very far between_. 

"Maybe it's the same for them then," she said quietly, her voice quivering ever so slightly. "Maybe Lulu and Eric are so in love that they don't have any other options either."

I laughed then, despairingly.  "When your barely legal sister's prospective husband is a _twenty-nine-year-old bodyguard_, then there is _always_ another option.  Trust me."

She chuckled softly and leaned her head against my chest, letting me wrap her up in my careful embrace.  All I wanted to do was hold her and to never let go.  I let go once before, removed myself to the sidelines while she sacrificed herself to a loyalty she alone upheld.  I did it because I loved her, and it was because of that love that I'd never—ever—make such a mistake again.  God only knew what would happen if I let go a second time.  

A soft vibration moved through my chest and I knew she's speaking again, softly.  "How's Lucky doing?" she asked.  It sounded as if she was dreading the answer.  She had good reason to.

"Oh, about where I am," I sighed, "Except about ten times more livid and with absolutely none of the self-control."

She winced in my grasp and sucked in a sharp breath.  "You don't think he'll do something drastic do you?"  

"He already has," I answered her, letting my eyes drift shut as her absent hand stoked a gentle pattern across my chest.  "He's threatening to call Luke."

Her hand stilled immediately.  "Oh, no."

I nodded and met her knowing gaze.  "Exactly.  If Luke gets wind of this the marriage will never happen, but, I mean, at what price?  Having Luke home again will only damage her further; Lulu still hasn't forgiven him for leaving."  

"Can you blame her?" Emily snapped, eyes suddenly flashing with anger.  "His thirst for open road and his disturbingly frequent need to escape the law has taken him away from home most of the last eight years.  It's why you and Lucky went into guardianship of her to begin with.  Because somewhere along the line, the fool got it in his thick head that his daughter was better off without her father."

Her words were like acid, their passionate resonance ringing in my ears like a sour note.  But it was all the same old tune, really, the same retelling of how Luke's messed up life had damaged my sister again and again, crushing a little bit more of her heart every time he sauntered his way out of her life with nothing but a "see ya, darlin'" for her to hold onto.  And don't think the similarities between my sister and my wife were lost on me, because they weren't.  It was the same in both instances.  The selfish bastards disappear and I'm left with two broken angels in their wake. It was so incredibly sad that it was almost funny.  Except that it wasn't.  "I know, I know," I said, forcing myself to refocus, to not get worked up all over again. "But Lucky… he's just _so angry_.  He knows bringing his father home will stop things; he doesn't care about the rest.  All he wants is for this marriage never to happen. And you know what?  I _really_ don't blame him."

I felt Emily sigh rather than heard it.  "Can't you two try _something_ else?"

A truly dark thought passed my mind then and I couldn't help but let out a sudden bark of dark laughter.  "Can I have Eric… taken care of?"

She frowned warningly at me, her brown eyes hardening slightly, but only slightly. "Nikolas…"

A rueful smile found my mouth and I pulled her into me even tighter, careful not to hurt her still tender wounds. "Kidding, only kidding."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, utterly unconvinced, nestling into my side.  But the light feeling around us didn't last, and I felt another one of those sighs bubble up in her.  I knew exactly what was happening.  She was connecting the dots, too, drawing those parallel lines between her life and Lulu's. 

"Look," she said suddenly, her voice firm and unmistakably grave. "Whether you and your brother like it or not, your sister is an adult.  She will make this decision on her own, and, well…I have to say that although you are my husband, and Lucky my best friend, I stand with _Lulu_ on this.  She loves him, don't keep her from that.  Don't stand between your sister and happiness."  
  


With a hand under her chin, I urged her head up so I could see her eyes.  "And if this all blows up in her face, and she ends up divorced with kids at the age of twenty-one and is forced to move in here because Lucky won't so much as look at her and Lesley disowns her?"  

She smiled warmly at me, her brown eyes sparking with gentle fondness.  "You think too much.  And, if by some horrible tragedy, that does come to pass, then that's her mistake to make."  Emily raised a hand to my rumpled hair and ran her fingers through it gently. "Don't do something that will drive a wedge between you and your sister, Nikolas.  You may never get her back."

I felt my heart crumble a little with the stunning sadness in her voice.  Damn Morgan.  I wish he'd never come back here.  He'd only managed to break her even more, and just when I thought such a thing wasn't possible.  Tell me; what is the point of coming back to the one you've abandoned if it's just to twist the knife, to stomp on the wound? Hmm?  I didn't know how he ever could have claimed to love her.  Someone who loved her never would have left her like that, least of all him.  He was her bloody savior for God's sake.

"How did the meeting with Jason go?"  The question was out so quickly, I partly wondered where it came from.  I mean, it wasn't really a question that needed answering, was it?  That truth was written all over her face and laced intricately into every vacant flicker of her suddenly lifeless eyes.

"It didn't," she said sharply, her whole body growing rigid in my arms.

She made to move away, but I didn't let her.  I still wasn't ready for that. "I ran into him on the docks," I said quietly, gauging her profile with hesitation.  "I asked him, to attend the meeting with you tonight."

She snorted.  "Yeah, well, you weren't the only one." Jesus, I could practically _feel_ her icing over.   

"I assume it went as usual then?"  Like I even had to ask.

She gave a tiny nod as her eyes slipped closed.  Then an odd stillness invaded her form making her feel hollow within the circle of my arms.  "He offered to go in my place," she murmured, as if the words were too difficult for her to say, took too much of her strength away.  

Well, of course, I should have suspected as much from him. God forbid Jason actually stands _united_ with his sister on something after all this time.  It really was all or nothing with him, wasn't it?  "I don't think that's a good idea, Emily," I said, shaking my head, wanting to put my words as gently as possible without evoking the beast in her.  I really didn't want to fight.  I never did. "Faith knows you're doing better. You know how she'll take seeing Jason's face there and not yours." A thoughtful silence wrapped us up and I waited a few beats before pushing it just a little bit further, just to make sure my point had been made. "But on the other hand, if he was just escorting you…"

I feel her deflate a little and I know she understands what I'm saying.  "I know, I know," she sighed, undoubtedly rolling her eyes like I was some blabbering father and she was the know-it-all teenager, reciting some rehearsed rundown of family rules.  "If he goes alone, Faith will panic and so will Alcazar, they'll think he's taken over.  If we go _together_ and he stays in the background..."

"That's right; Jason going in alone will read like a power switch.  But if he presents himself as nothing more than extra muscle, Faith will be much less likely to loose her cool.  Let him have too big a role in the meeting and war will be inevitable, sooner rather than latter, too." For a split second I felt contented.  Like for once, I'd actually won with her.  

I really should have remembered my own rules, huh?  Nobody wins, and especially not against my wife.  

"Do I really care anymore, Nikolas?" 

In an instant my warning bells went off.  I couldn't let her go down this road, because at the end of this road there awaited one of two things for my wife: a jail cell or a casket.  "Emily…"

"No," she hissed through gritted teeth, genuine anger rolling off her small form in deadly waves.  "That woman _killed_ Courtney.  She killed our baby and she almost killed me.  How many second chances am I supposed to give her for the sake of 'Business', Nikolas?  In my eyes she's outlived any usefulness she may have had.  The only place in this town where Faith Rosco belongs anymore is in a pine box, six feet under the ground."

"Em, please, just listen to me," I begged softly, desperate to quiet her tirade before it erupted.  Don't get me wrong, I hated Faith Rosco with every last fiber of my being. She took my unborn child from me and her actions caused irrevocable damage to the person my wife used to be.  But I refused to go off half-cocked and only end up hurting _ourselves_ in the end.  When we finally got her, I wanted her reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess, begging for life at my feet.  I didn't want her to walk away with anything.  Hell, I didn't want her to walk away at all.  "Faith's foothold on the docks is pivotal, that's the only reason why we tolerate her.  We _will_ move against her, but it cannot be now.  We still have to lure Alcazar to our side, maneuver our way into her territory, get poised to take it back, knock her legs out from underneath her so that she's useless and _powerless_. Start a war with her now, while she's still got firm control on the docks and resources like Alcazar at her disposal, and you can say goodbye to free transport in the numbers we're used to.  It'll carve a considerable hole in our earnings, Emily.  Your stronghold will slip."

Her body tensed again and her eyes -suddenly cold with defiance- bore into mine.  She saw and she knew. She just didn't give a damn.  She was tired of being thirsty, fed up with wanting but not being able to have.   "I don't care.  I'm done being diplomatic here." There wasn't anything loving or even slightly sensitive in her tone anymore—just cold, calculating, Mob Boss Emily Morgan-Cassadine.  And her next words completed the shift perfectly.  

"I should just send Johnny in there and be done with it."

I didn't think I'd ever get used to the flippancy in which she approached things like this now.  It was like she was talking about taking the dog out for a walk, not touching off a small massacre.  _Taking life away._  "And what, mop up the mess when he's done?" An urgency that had become sickeningly familiar leaked from my words as I pleaded with her, because somewhere deep inside I knew just how pivotal this movement would prove to be.  This was another unraveling point in our lives and it rested upon me to stop the seams from breaking all over again.  "Think about this, Emily, _please_.  You know that isn't smart _or_ right."

For a half a second, a thoughtful remorse flickered in her eyes and a giddy hope exploded in my chest. But then it was gone.  Both flicker and hope extinguished in a fluttering of inky lashes.  And it its place…?  Ice.  Rigid and cold.  "It may not be, but it'll sure as hell make me feel better."

"No it won't," I whispered sadly.  God, how I wished she could've understood that.  

"How do you know that, Nikolas," was her lighting fast, brutal reply. "For six years I've wanted this woman dead.  And you know what?  As I see it, I've already waited too long."  With that she roughly disengaged herself from my arms and stalked out the penthouse door, skirt fluttering and heels clicking, leaving nothing but ominous intentions in her wake.

Sighing deeply, my hands found their way into my hair once more.

This wasn't going to end well… for anyone.

~#~

(a/n) Okay, so I lied.  Sue me.  In my decidedly dark mood, it seems I've pounded out quite the angsty bit, huh?  Oh well, I think it does its job and sets the tone for the upcoming chapters very well.  But then, that's just me.  As far as Nik goes (and I'm going to break this down because I want you readers to fully understand where he's coming from), as you can see, he does still desperately love Emily, its just that so many painful things have happened in the past that he's feeling a tad embittered, but also, at the same time, oddly resigned to his life, to their life.  Its weird, but I think it rings true.  I mean, lets take a marriage between two people I know for instance.  This couple shares a fairly tumultuous past, one riddled with unfortunate tragedy and very complicated circumstances.  Now, the man loves his wife, and she loves him.  That devotion is painfully clear.  But, underneath that, there is a level of pain, anger, and even mistrust that cause them to lash out bitterly, to loose faith, and to think things that are far from loving.  Its human nature.  Inside all of us there is an ugly, foul-mouthed, ill-intentioned, little cynic that grows even more cynical with every bad thing that happens to us.  It's just up to each person to tame it, to be good, decent, and kind in spite of that part of us, and to begin to heal, properly.  So, I think that's were Nik and Em are.  There is just so much water under the bridge that's its becoming difficult to let it all keep passing unspoken.  He's stuck between loving her, feeling sorry for her, and being appalled by her.  Things are quickly reaching a breaking point.  Add Jason and an impending meeting with Faith to that and you've got yourself a recipe for disaster, don't ya think?  Anyway, I'll shut up now and let you go.  Take care and don't forget to review.  I think I need some good vibes.  ~Loke *hugs*

Next Chap: Emily POV.  In which the meeting begins and a few other key players, who also double as very familiar faces, are revealed.  Elizabeth makes an appearance.   

Oh, and sorry if there are any errors in this, I sorta rushed the posting process.   


	5. Emily

**Fettered Ties**

**Author:** Loke

**Email:** gentle_ice@hotmail.com  To those of you who email me, my former email addy is going to be null soon, so use this one instead! THX!        

**Rating:** PG-13, for violence, sprinkles of bad language (f-word included), and dark themes.  (Will change later on, maybe, if I get complaints)

**Summary:** Courtney was gone. Grief drove Jason away, and, in his absence, I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, _for_ my brother, in _his_ name and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take. And it nearly killed me.****

**Feedback:** loved and appreciated as always!  It helps to know what you guys think, good or bad.  Just be gentle, that's all I ask, lol.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, and despite my many pleas, I still own noting associated with "General Hospital".  I know… sucks to be me. 

**(a/n)** Hey all.  Well, I have to say that while my shitty mood has not subsided (I recently found out my job was bequeathed to me directly from Satan himself) I managed to vent all my frustrations on my computer this weekend and came up with this.  It's Emily POV, as promised, and, since I think it will add to the drama of things, from here on out I'm not going to try to sketch out histories in my author notes.  I'll just let it unfold as you read.  But, of course, if you have a question, feel free to ask.  I'll do my best to answer without giving away my plotline.  But, before I go, I'll still give my obligatory, _"it's depressing and brutal, proceed at your own ris_k" warning.  It's a bit more important now that I've downgraded to PG-13.  But anyway, that's all from me.  See you guys at the end of this thing, and, as always, thanks about a billion times over for reading.  :o) ~Loke*hugs*

**To my reviewers: **

**Shamira, Joy, Stephie1974, Tamara, **and** Bushlaboo**… I don't know what I'd do without you guys!  You're why I keep updating to be honest.  If it weren't for you guys and your reviews, I'm fairly certain my motivation would be laying tagged-and-bagged somewhere.  So, thanks again for the much needed kick in the ass and the kind words.  Love ya! ~Loke *hugs*    

Oh, and same as last time, I rushed posting this, so please forgive me any really obvious screw-ups.  I'll be better next time.  I promise!

And just a tiny heads up… I've mentioned Johnny before now.  Mr. Moving-Up-In-The-World makes his appearance below.  You'll all get to see just what role he plays in Emily's life…

**~#~**

**Chapter four ~ "just what she needs"**

**~#~**

**Emily's POV**

**~#~**

The elevator doors slid closed and dead silence hung threateningly in the air.  I was in absolutely no mood for anyone's bullshit, and every single one of my guys (the other five occupants, all gawping at me with identical "oh, shit, she's gonna blow" looks on their faces) knew it, and knew it well.  

I was pissed, beyond it even.  How could Nikolas do this?  How could he take the opposition at a time like this?  Didn't anyone understand what I was facing, didn't they care?  In less than an hour I'd be walking straight into hell, to have a meet and greet with Faith Rosco, the Black Widow herself.  I'd be sitting down, with an air of _civility_ no less, directly across from the woman who'd single handedly ruined my life, killing my child and a sister-in-law who meant more to me than I could ever put into words.  

And they all knew this, my husband best of all.  Yet he still had the nerve, the _audacity_ to tell me to stay my temper, to _wait_.  _Well, screw him, and screw Jason, too, _I thought, watching as the elevator needle neared the tenth floor—my destination.  If Jason didn't want to help me, if my husband wouldn't support me, then I didn't need either of them, because I still had one person on _my_ side, one pair of eyes I knew, beyond a doubt, would see it all my way.  

The elevator slowed to a smooth stop and the doors coasted open.  I stepped over the metal strip and motioned to the herd of men moving to follow me—without even sparing them glances—that they were to stay put.  I didn't need them for this.

My stilettos clicked across the marble floor swiftly as I walked down the empty hallway.  And with each step, I felt something in my gut uncoil and settle.  It would be okay, he would help me reconcile this and close the wound for good.  He would understand.  Johnny always did.  

My walk brought me to the very end of the hall, the pricey apartments.  Not penthouses, mind you, but then he'd never been a penthouse kinda guy.  Even getting him to take this one was like pulling teeth.  He fought me every step of the way, said his modest little split level on the waterfront was "good 'nough for me".  But, and I suppose this fact should have raised a few flags at the time, it wasn't good enough for _me_, and that was what eventually changed his mind. 

I raised a hand and knocked just under the gleaming _10-A_. 

There was a pause and then a rushed, familiar scuffle of feet before the door swung open, revealing the quickly retreating back of a clearly hurried man.  "I know, I know," he said as I stepped inside, an unavoidable smile pulling at my lips, as the tall, broad-shouldered figure darted out of sight and down a hallway.  The same voice bellowed from somewhere within the apartment's depths: "Just give me five minutes, tops.  I swear!"  

I sighed and leaned against one of the massive white pillars that flanked his front door.  This was so like him, and the fact that on a day like this one, he was still managing to be, well, _him_, brought me a feeling of easy reassurance.  If he wasn't rattled, I wouldn't be.  Easy as that.  "Take your time, Johnny," I yelled to him, wherever he was.  "You're not late, I'm early."

He reappeared, then, brown hair still hopelessly messy, tie hanging undone around his neck.  He flashed his wristwatch a curious glance and then looked back at me, eyebrows up and suspicious.  "Something happen?"

I felt a rush of gratitude toward the man in front of me then.  He had really stepped up to the plate all those years ago, threw himself into the middle of anything and everything for me, and all without question.  I could never accurately explain how much his friendship meant to me, nor pinpoint its origin.  But none of that mattered; he was to me all the things Jason had ceased to be, all that and more.  And something told me he'd never stop.   

"Nothing I can't handle," I smiled as I closed the gap between us so I could fix his tie.  The man was as tough and as capable as they came, but he couldn't tie a tie if his life depended on it.  

As my fingers worked the Windsor knot, I felt his eyes on me.  "You sure about that, Em?"  

I loved him dearly, but his knack for seeing past my attempts at cover really ticked me off sometimes, left me feeling as naked and hallow as when Jason or Nikolas looked at me.  Like, if they wanted to, they could see right through to my soul, and know at once every horrible thing I'd ever done.  _That_ terrified me more than any sadistic madwoman looking to force me into an early grave.  But futile as I knew it would be, I still had to try and play it off.  It isn't worth it if you don't.  "I'm fine, Johnny.  Honest."  I finished with his tie and patted the knot triumphantly.  And giving him the most sincere forced smile I could rally, I knew full well he wasn't buying any of it.  Not one word.

His dark eyes became soft and his suspicion faded into concern.  "Emily, what happened?  And don't say nothing, 'cause we both know that isn't true."

In a lame attempt to keep myself from looking into his eyes, I started to fiddle with his suit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, straightening lapels that already lay perfectly flat.  "Nikolas and I just had little disagreement, no biggie.  It's already forgotten."  _Yeah, sure, Em… maybe if you say it enough times…_

His hands jutted up to mine and captured them in his firm grasp, ending my fidgeting.  "Em.  Please.  Don't bullshit me.  What happened?"  Soft but insistent, so very like him.  

Glaring at him, I pulled away and set my arms across my chest. "Alright!  _God_.  Anybody ever tell you you're a pain in the ass, O'Brien?"

He didn't answer; only shot me a look that clearly said, _Yeah, you, and all the damn time_.  "Jason came by, okay?  Happy?" I snapped, turning my back to him and drifting toward the loft window across the open living room.  "That's what's bothering me.  My brother and my husband, two men who despise each other, have decided to take standpoints _against_ me."  

There was a pause and then a sigh, deep and exasperated straight to the core.  I felt my heart lighten.  I knew he would get it.  I just knew he would.  

"So… Nikolas still wants you to wait?"

I pivoted to face him again; heavy relief flooded me when I saw the look on his face.  "Yes.  And now Jason's added his two cents—for different reasons, of course.  He doesn't give a damn about Business.  He just doesn't want me to go tonight, said he thinks it's too soon, I'm pushing it, that it's not a good idea.  _Can you believe that?"_

He shook his head, except the movement wasn't as resolute as it normally was.  There was reluctance in his agreement; I could see it in the way he had suddenly cast his eyes to the floor, the way his hand worried at his nape almost nervously.  I tried to blink it away, tell myself it was just a trick of the light.  That it wasn't dissent I saw in his face.  It _wasn't_…  

Except that it was.  Sharp as shale. _Oh, just freaking wonderful_, I thought.  And here I was thinking I could count on him… "What?  What's the problem?" I demanded, my voice rising brutally at the end.  

He shrugged his shoulders and sighed another time.  It was then that I realized the aforementioned exasperation hadn't been directed at _them_; it was aimed at _me_.  I wanted to scream.  

"I don't believe this," I huffed, turning away again, overcome with frustration.   Why was it so hard for all of them to understand that I needed to do this?  I couldn't stay away; I couldn't compromise in any form. I needed to present a strong and unflappable air to that bleach-blonde-bitch and her South American mattress buddy.  I _needed_ to do this.  I couldn't be weak, I just couldn't.  In my world, there was no greater crime than being weak.  And the punishment for it wasn't preferable by any means.

"Well, what do you want me to say, Em?" His voice was open and raw, angry and sad all at the same time and I was reminded—yet again—that as much I wanted everything to be normal, it never would be.  I was really starting to hate that word '_never'_.  It ruled too much of my life, constantly backed me into corners no one else could see, but that I couldn't escape from.  

"You almost died!" he roared.  "Do you want me to just give you the all clear, let you saunter into that meeting with that fucking piece of bleached trash, without so much as a _murmur_ of disagreement?  Because if that's what you want_—I—can't—do—it!_  I can't let you walk yourself into that nightmare, Emily.  Forgetting about the physical aspect even—which, by the way, is bad enough on its own—going in there is gonna hurt you _too much_—"

"I'm already hurt, Johnny!"  

And there it went, I was yelling—_again_.  But this time was different; the anger was even rawer than with Jason.  Because _here_ I never expected it. Here it blindsided me. "That ship sailed a while ago, don't you think?  Say, _gee_, I don't know, maybe six goddamn years ago!"  I was so furious that I suddenly didn't know what to do with my hands.  I wanted to hug myself, wanted to rake them through my hair… wanted to belt him. "You know, I came down here because I thought you—of all people—would get this, Johnny!  I mean, _Jesus_. When have you _ever_ not understood what I'm going—" 

"_Enough!"_  

His voice rattled through the airy apartment like a sonic boom and I'm not ashamed to say that it actually made me jump.  His hands flew to his hair and I was sharply reminded of my husband, pacing the floor of my hospital room, sick with worry, shaking in anger as Jason sat bedside, his face just as pallid as Johnny's was now.  I couldn't stop thinking that I should have seen the similarities before then.  I should have paid more attention. 

"Stop acting like I don't get what you're feeling.  I want her dead, Emily.  You know that.  I want her dead and buried, and I wanna be the one to do it, but I _cannot_ stand here without letting you know that, yeah, a part of me does agree with Jason and Nikolas." I opened my mouth but he held up a hand and glared me silent.  Not an easy task.  "Seeing Faith Rosco tonight is going to kill you inside.  It's gonna open the flood gates to everything, to Courtney, to Jason leaving, to the shooting, to loosing the baby…" his voice quaked almost imperceptibly as his eyes burned straight through me with the intensity few knew he could possess. "And I hate that you have to go through that.  I _hate_ it!"  

His chest was heaving, up and down, up and down.  And his eyes were closed, clenched tight while his large and familiar hands mirrored their manner, forming two white-knuckled fists at his sides.  The image he created, of a man suddenly drop-kicked into a tooth-and-nail battle for his own self control, made my jaw tremble and my eyes sting. I felt them again, tears, welling, pushing their way past my barriers and strongholds, leaking into the corners of my eyes.  And, unbidden, the stark knowledge that I wasn't even vaguely worthy of the man in front of me, of the emotion pulsating and weaving impossible patterns around us until you could almost hear it crackling it the air, hit me like a sucker punch to the gut.  

I didn't deserve this.  

I didn't deserve him. 

I didn't deserve his loyalty.  

But still I wanted it so much.  So much it hurt, so much it made my mind reel in panic, and my voice shake with fear.   Yeah, _fear_.  Fear of being tossed to the side again, of meaning so much to someone they had no choice but to leave you, fear of having one more person I cared about up and disappear in puff of smoke or with a screech of tires.  

"So, what now, Johnny?  You're abandoning me, too?  You're not going to stand beside me on this?" I battled with my own voice, willing myself to stay steady, even.  But it just wouldn't come.  My control had shattered somewhere between my argument with Jason, my tender moment gone wrong with Nikolas, and Johnny's front door.  "Are you telling me that I'm going to end up nose to nose with that woman _without_ Jason, without Nikolas _or_ you, without _anybody_ there for me?  Is that it, Johnny; is that how this is going to go?" 

His shoulders sagged with a groan and before I could react he was in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes desperate and pleading.  "I will always stand beside you, _always_. _Never_ doubt that.  But I won't do it mutely.  I won't stand off in a corner somewhere and watch you torture yourself." He let out a low, measured breath and closed his eyes for a long moment.  "And even though all I want to do is go into that meeting, and get rid of her for good while you sit home, untouched, I know that's not going to happen tonight, because I know _you_.  And I know that you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met, and that nothing I say or do is going to stop you because you have to do this for yourself.  You have to go in there and show her that she failed, that you're still standing, and that you _haven't_ forgotten.  And even though I don't like it, I'll be there, Em, _right_ there at your side." He stopped again as his wildly caring eyes searched mine.  It was then that I felt his hand on my face, his fingers brushing my cheek so softly I almost thought I was imaging it.  "And you know why."

I could see a reverence in his gaze, a look of peaceful adoration that absolutely terrified me because I knew where it had sprung from so suddenly.  I knew, but I hoped with everything in me to be wrong.  It wasn't until he spoke—a whisper so soft I barely heard it—that I knew all hope was lost.  "Do you even know how much you mean to me?"

And that's when my heart broke, crumbled into a blackened heap within my chest.  He couldn't do this.  I'd seen flickers of it before, glimpses in warm brown that made me melt, but I always told myself I was wrong.  I was misreading it.  I was confused.  But as I looked into his eyes, those fathomless pools of devotion, I was no longer confused.  No, now I was petrified."Johnny, don't," I pleaded, my voice breaking in spite of myself.  "Don't, just don't, _please_ don't--"   

"Let me talk," he said softly, drifting his hands down my leather clad arms to grasp my hands tightly. "Just let me say this.  Please.  And then—then we can just forget it, okay?"

There was an impossible innocence shimmering in his eyes that made my stomach lurch painfully.  I honestly felt sick.  Oh, God, I wanted to crawl into a hole and kill myself.  

Do you see now, do you see how I turn everything around me into shit?  He was my friend, and in my oblivious haze of self-importance, I began to depend on him more than I did even my own husband.  I allowed a trust, a bond unnamed to grow between us.  I let him become more than he ever should've been to me.  And now I was paying for it.  He was going to—oh, _God_—_profess_ something, and I'd have to hurt him, just like I hurt everyone else.  My insides were screaming.  

"I know what we are," he said sadly, head bowed.  "I know that you love him, that you have a life and a family and that I don't fit into it.  I get that.  I do."  He lifted his head and leveled me with a smile so tiny and boyishly wonderful I thought I would faint.  "But right now I'm talking about _me_. _ I _care about you, _really_ care about you.  And I know that I shouldn't, that what we have is… well, it's different, I guess.  It's about friendship, about compassion, comfort, understanding—all those things.  But, Em, when you almost died, something changed for me.  I realized that I—" His voice caught slightly in a nervous stumble, and he took a long, measured breath before going on. "I realized that you mean more to me than you should… more than anyone ever has." I made a tiny, awed noise of protest but again he waved me silent.  It was probably for the best.  The raw honesty of his words had wrapped around my vocal cords like icy fingers, and I doubt I could have spoken if I'd tried.  

"And I don't care that you're married, that we can't ever be anything more than what we are…" his head dipped again, his voice growing sad. "Or even that you don't feel the same way.  _I don't care._  Because I know what I feel for you, and _that_ is what matters to me, why I'm never gonna abandon you, and why I'm always gonna be there.  Because it isn't about choice for me, Emily.  I'm never gonna leave you.  _I can't._"

My mind was swimming.  I mean, just absolutely, flat out, _swimming_.  What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to react to that?  I didn't know, didn't have a single clue.  I was so confused, so horribly turned around that I wanted to cry.  But I wouldn't.  Because I knew I deserved every twist of guilt, every pang of shame that came over me.  I deserved it all.  

The loving glimmer in his eyes, the softness of his touch, the hopeful tilt to his smile, and the way I'd be the one to slowly and painfully bleed them out of him—all those things were _my_ fault.  And I wanted to suffer because of it.  But mostly I just wanted to run away and pretend like this had never—ever—happened.  Yes, it was a horribly selfish thought, but it was true.  I _so_ didn't need this right now…  "Johnny—I—I don't know what… what to—"

"You don't have to do anything, Emily." He said quietly, letting his hands drop from my arms and settle at my waist.  "All I want from you is to never doubt my presence in your life."  A smile busted wide on his face then as he fiddled with the stitching on my belt.  The suddenness of it unnerved me.  What could he possibly have to smile about?  My world just got bitch-slapped off its axis and he's _grinning_?  What gives? 

"Do you remember what I told you the day before you took over for Jason?" he asked me, eyes still bright, rapt, and piercing.  "Do you remember what I said?"

I nodded as the scene came back to me.  Me, confused as hell, grave-faced and perched on some imaginary fence, trying to choose which side to jump down on, and there was Johnny, dressed to the nines and looking at me with a raw determination that made my knees quake.  He believed in my decision even when I didn't.  He never stopped believing in me.  Never.  "Yeah," I rasped.  "You, um, you looked at me and you promised to help me through it.  You said, 'We got this. Shoulder to shoulder, Emily, shoulder to shoulder'."

"And it's still the God's honest truth, Em.  Nothing's changed." I felt his fingers grip my waist tightly and then splay out against my hips as he jerked me forward, bringing me flush up against him. I made some startled squeak low in my throat, and that smile of his became the one I was more familiar with.  That confident, secure, smirk that truly suited him.  The one he wore when he knew he had me, and that there wasn't a damn thing anybody could do about it.  Not even me. "Well, _almost_ nothing."

See, I should have stepped away then, told him the truth.  Admitted to him that whatever it was bubbling between us, had to stop—immediately.  I should have ended the horrible game I hadn't even known we were playing.  

I should have left. 

_'Shoulder to shoulder, Emily, shoulder to shoulder.'_

The words from our past echoed in my head.  They sounded just as I had remembered them, so promising.  And I knew why.  See, Johnny was like me.  There was nothing I couldn't tell him, nothing I had to be afraid to think or feel around him.  He was scarred by this world, too.  A fellow dweller of the dark.  He knew its workings even better than I did.   He wouldn't run away from me and something about that felt right.  So right, in fact, that I looked up at the man who had just poured his heart out to me, the man I _wasn't_ in love with, who was giving himself and his devotion to me, the man who was pledging to care about me despite the ugliness of who I was, and smiled.  

Smiled and melted into the circle of his arms.  

See, I _would _have left, that girl I once was.  

But, like I've said before, I'm not the person I used be.

~#~

A half an hour later, I—with Johnny by my side and a crew of five men trailing obediently behind—was striding confidently along the docks, down toward Pier 48.  That particular pier was considered 'common ground' between Morgan and Rosco territory.  A leeway of sorts, owned by a little old lady (Maryella Sands) who nobody screwed with because, frankly, the crazy old bird scared the tar out of everyone who crossed her path.  But, fortunately for the night's festivities, sweet old Maryella was busy snoring in her bed somewhere on Benton Ave., leaving us more sinister waterfront owners, free to use one of her abandoned warehouses for what Dillon called 'the pre-game show'. 

 It was a dead accurate term, really.  Because after tonight, that's when all pretenses would be dropped, and things would really get going, and not for the better.  The 'game' part of it, as Dillon had referred to it, the part that would come after this meeting, was—once all niceties had been stripped away—a good, old fashioned turf war.  Down and dirty.  But as nasty as things would get, it was all still a game, a deadly one, but a game nonetheless.  I suppose Dillon really hit the nail on the head with that one, huh?  But then there was good reason for that. 

See, my cousin, Dillon, in all his huggable goofiness, was—more times than not—a very insightful young man, with a swift mind for business, and an even swifter nose for trouble.  That's why he was what he was in my Organization.  A top dog, that is.

Surprised?  Well, you wouldn't be the first.  Dillon was that nice, awkward, but quirkily confident kinda kid that just seemed destined for bigger and better things.  And for a while he was.  Blazing a trail to film school, hell bent on becoming the next Steven Spielberg.  But then Georgie got pregnant and every pathetic, daytime-drama cliché you'd ever heard of began to unravel around the young couple.   Tracy, Dillon's overbearing, pretentious, money-grubbing, power whore of a mother launched into hysterics upon the news and promptly disowned him, unceremoniously chucking him out into the street.  Clothes in the front yard and all.  Mac and Felicia's response wasn't nearly as dramatic, but they weren't happy.  Not one tiny bit.  So, his eighteen-year-old girlfriend pregnant, Dillon found himself effectively homeless (because Mac sure as hell wasn't going to let Dillon move into the Scorpio household) _and_ flat broke.  He turned to me.

Now, this all happened within about a week of Courtney's death, and, being as horribly rattled and family obsessed as I was, did more than just give him money.  I had Jason give him a job, something small and out of 'things' that paid a ridiculous amount of cash, and a place to live, a loft apartment (formerly mine) down by the waterfront.  It had all started out so small, thinking back.  Just a job and a place to live.  And then it ballooned.  He became more involved, pulled deeper and deeper in until one day he found himself right in the thick of it, an advisor and part time liaison between me and my foreign and domestic contacts.  Johnny called him Mr. Building Bridges.

Georgie's reaction was textbook, but diluted somehow when I explained to her that Dillon was and would never be a Jason-type member of my organization.  He was the guy who helped keep us clean, presentable.  The one who didn't need to wear that Kevlar vest all my other guys kept in their trunks.  She seemed pacified, and life went on, finding her and Dillon married a year later and her now as a soon-to-be surgeon at General Hospital, specializing in Cardiology.  The money I paid Dillon allowed her that future and she knew that.  Georgie and I never clashed; In fact we even became very close friends over the years, close enough to be the godmother to her daughter, Andrea, and close enough for them to have dinner at the penthouse with Nikolas and me every Sunday night.  See, I guess my point is that circumstance can get away from anyone.  Things happen and what started out as just 'no big deal' can turn into something bigger than anyone thought possible.  Sometimes, you just get pulled in deeper than you ever intended.  Dillon was no exception, and, hell, neither was I.

And, as we turned a sharp corner, Dillon was also—still sporting that skyscraper hairdo of his—standing at the entrance to the warehouse, bundled up in his trademark leather trench coat, looking like he wanted to be just about anywhere but exactly where he was. 

As we neared him, he looked up and his discontented air faded immediately, giving way to something else that was trademark to Dillon: a megawatt grin.

"There she is," he said, giving Johnny's arm a good natured punch as he blew past him to envelope me in a huge hug.  I tried not to flinch as he seemed to hold on for dear life.  But, hey, I was shot thee times less than two months ago.  Superwoman I am not.

Johnny must have noticed my discomfort, because, though smiling, he spoke up with his no-nonsense voice, "Easy there, D, she's still a little tender.  Don't wanna go bruising up the Boss first time out."   

Dillon eased off, that apparently infectious grin (because I was smiling now, too) of his still firmly intact.  "Sorry," he said, giving my gloved hands a firm squeeze.  "I'm just happy to see you is all." His grin faltered a bit and his eyebrows drew together, eyes suddenly grave.  "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner, Em.  But the Cioleni family… well, I was in a deadlock, and you know how—" 

"Hush," I said, patting his worried face with my hand.  "You were halfway around the world, Dillon, deep in negotiations with very important people, people who aren't exactly known for their _diplomacy_…"  

He went a bit pink and smiled at me again.  The Cioleni family, a new relationship being forged all the way back in Italy.  Nice people, they just happened to be as Old Word as they came.  Very unwilling to trust new faces, especially new faces who happened to be under thirty-years-old and advocating for a female Boss.  Let's just say it was a… delicate situation.  But, as usual, he handled it expertly, and managed to cement a new working agreement for free transport of products from Morgan Industries between PC and the twelve local—and pivotal—ports under the Cioleni family's control.  Dillon even already had Justus drawing up the necessary contracts.  I was beyond proud.  The Cioleni family was notoriously introverted, making their living dealing with a close-knit group of family associates.  The fact that Dillon had finagled such a deal—even if it did take him over two months—was a feat for the record books, something no one, not even the Five Families, had been able to push through.  But then that was our Dillon. The little charmer could sweet talk a nun right out of her knickers, even with a gun to his head.  And trust me, he'd had a gun to his head in Italy.  Several of them, actually.

He bit his lip and pulled a guilty face.  "Don't tell Georgie?"  

I had to laugh at the puppy-dog look he flashed my way.  Charmer, all right.  "I wouldn't dream of it," I smiled, letting him lead us toward the dock's edge and the wooden railing separating us from the icy waters of Port Charles Harbor.  "It is good to see you, though.  It looks like they were at least feeding you well up there.  You look good."

He shrugged his shoulders.  "It was Italy, what can I say?  I mean, the men may have wanted to put a bullet in my skull the first three weeks, but all the woman wanted to do was feed me."

I raised a knowing eyebrow.  "_All?_  You sure about that one there, Dillon?"

My query earned the anticipated glare.  "Funny, Em.  A riot.  Really." The dryness of his tone wasn't lost on me.  "You know I love Georgie.  She's my whole heart; I wouldn't do that to her."

It was funny, you know, hearing that promise said out loud like that.  I mean, I loved Nikolas, and he was more than my heart. He was my soul, my everything, but yet there was this… other person in my head, tugging at me, promising me things I just couldn't seem to ignore, even if I really wanted to.  I didn't even want to think about what that made me.  So, ever the evader, I opted for a subject change, instead.  "So, what brings you down here?  I would have thought you'd be home with Georgie and 'Drea, being away for so long and all." 

He stretched his arms out over the rail, flexing his gloved fingers against the cold.  I could see the slight rise under the black leather on his left ring finger. His wedding ring.  Seeing it made me grope for mine, that enormous rock of an engagement ring Nikolas got me a whole decade ago.  Funny how things that sometimes feel like yesterday, can also feel like they happened eons ago, so out of reach they feel like they're stolen memories, pieces of someone else's life.  "Georgie's got work, couldn't get off, and 'Drea's sleeping over at a friend's house.  I didn't really have anywhere else to be, honestly."

_Nice try_, I thought, gauging his profile carefully before letting my eyes drift back out over the water.  I knew why he was here, and it warmed me inside.  We may not have gotten to spend much time together once he started his advocate duties for me, but he still cared.  And that counted for something with me.  "Sure thing, Dillon, whatever you say."  

"What?"  He put on that aghast look of his, eyebrows drawn up to his hairline, hand pressed to his chest.  "Are you saying you don't believe me?" A beat passed, a beat of silence that saw his little act kick it up a notch.  His mouth pulled into a frown and his eyes grew big and sad, but the laughing kind.  "I'm wounded, Em, I really am."

 "Yeah?" I said, nudging his shoulder and smiling warmly up at him.  "And _I'm_ honored." He shifted uncomfortably, never one to take praise or thanks.  He even opened his mouth, no doubt to say something dismissive like 'it was nothing', or 'don't mention it', but I held up a hand and silenced him.  "No, Dillon. Really. You didn't have to come down here tonight.  I mean, this could get pretty ugly, violent even.  You didn't have to do this for me." I let a moment pass as I turned back to the water and gently tipped my head to rest against his leather clad shoulder.  "But I'm glad you did."

I heard him make a small, undecipherable noise deep in the back of his throat as he brought and arm up around me, being a lot more careful with his hugging this time around.  "Yeah, well, I didn't want you to be alone tonight, Emily."

"She won't be."

My heart froze in my chest at the familiar voice.  Froze and fell with a clunk all the way to my toes.  I turned around, a good fifteen seconds behind Dillon, and sure enough, there he was.

Jason.

His jacket was pulled tight around him; his hands were buried in his pockets.  Every part of him looked closed off and defended.  Every part but his eyes, that is.  His eyes said more than he ever could.  "What are you…?"  The question died on my lips because, well, I wasn't quite sure how to finish it.  I mean, how do you ask something you're afraid to know the answer to?

He shot a glance to Dillon and our younger cousin looked back at me in response, silently asking if leaving off, like Jason wanted him to, was an okay thing for him to do.  I nodded and Dillon gave my arm a reassuring squeeze before pushing past Jason none too gently, shoulder bumping shoulder.  If Jason was bothered by Dillon's overt frigidness, he didn't show it.  Big surprise there.  

He looked at me again and stepped closer, filling up my field of vision.  "You ready?" he asked.

For some reason, and I don't know what, the way Jason was handling himself—like accompanying me to a meeting of this kind was an everyday occurrence—didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.  There was no bitterness nagging at my gut, no urge to berate, to scream, to slap, to curse.  I was completely devoid of anger, in any form.  But I wasn't happy either.  In fact, I wasn't anything.  I think was in shock.  I opened my mouth to speak, but another voice, one that wasn't lacking anger at all, ripped through the still night air.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Morgan?"

I think I gasped.  I had never—_never_—in all my time knowing Johnny, ever heard him speak to Jason in anything but stiff obedience, but then maybe I'd missed something since Jason got back.  Nevertheless, the ugliness of Johnny's words floored me, and I mechanically readied myself for the fallout.  

Fallout that never came.  

Jason was stock-still, as serene as Lake Placid, and hadn't even acknowledged Johnny, who now stood directly at my side, noticeably seething.  My brother never took his eyes off me.  

"Are you ready, Em?" he said again, eyes still focused resolutely on mine.  I had to admit, I felt a bit dazed at the moment.  It was like I was watching this happen to someone else.  Jason was going to attend the meeting with me.  He was going to be there, _with me_.  My brain could hardly comprehend it all.  "Faith and Alcazar will be here any second.  I saw their car pull up down the way." 

And then his hand reached out to mine, and all I could do was stare at it.  Palm up, fingers spread, an acceptance of truth bigger then both of us, or a concession to mollify the beast in me?  I couldn't tell.  I wasn't sure I cared right then.  How it came to be there didn't matter.  Because it was _Jason_, with his hand out, asking with his eyes for me to trust him again, to just reach out and grab it like I used to when I was a little girl.  Without thinking, without dissection…without bitterness and doubt.  

Vaguely, somewhere in what seemed like another realm, I heard Johnny scoff and say something.  I couldn't tell you what.  All I could see was Jason and his hand, all I could hear was the din of wordless promises it represented, pulsating through my ears like thundering hooves.  I didn't know if he believed in what he was offering me.  But as I said before, it didn't matter, and I didn't care.  He was here, maybe only for tonight, maybe never again, but my Jason was here.  Now.  And I wasn't going to let him get away.

I took his hand.

And something in me exploded.  It wasn't like before in my penthouse, with his hand clasped desperately over mine.  It didn't feel forced.  It felt… _right_.  Like the universe, the one that'd been becoming more and more askew over these past six years, was slowly righting itself.  Puzzle pieces were falling back into place; colors were being plucked forward from abysmal black; sheers of denial were being stripped away until, _finally_, everything stood clear and open between us, around us.  And everything I felt—I saw staring back at me through icicle eyes that I had never perceived as cold or scary.  In that moment I knew I'd made the right choice.  

It was Jason and me again.  It was me and my brother.

"Well, lookie here," a cold voice said in mocking sweetness, causing all stops in time and space to punch back into high gear.  My eyes left Jason and refocused on the once empty space behind him, finding anchor on none other than Faith Rosco herself, as acutely evil as ever, heading up the pack of her usual dim-witted guards, Lorenzo Alcazar positioned stoically at her side.  

"How sweet," she purred, her heels clicking annoyingly against the worn boards of the docks as she drew nearer, her serpent-like gaze rolling over our still joined hands.  "I just _love_ family reunions, don't you?" Her pointed face turned up into a broad and mocking smile, and I briefly wondered if she'd ever given a genuine smile in her life, one devoid of malicious intent. "Too bad you're short one." The hateful blonde sucked in a sharp breath and one of her gloved hands moved over the O of her mouth in feigned shock. "Oh, wait—that would be _two_ now, right?  I mean, what with your little…_accident_."

Through our hands, I felt Jason tense viciously.  He flicked his gaze to me nervously and I could see the worry and the uncertainty there.  He had never really seen me go toe-to-toe with Faith.  He didn't know what to expect and he probably didn't trust himself to handle it sensibly.  So with a gentle squeeze I released his hand and set about relieving him of both his doubt _and_ obligation.  I didn't need Jason to mediate.  I was more than capable of handling Faith Rosco.  More than capable.  

I tilted my chin up and stepped toward her, smiling.  Perhaps surprised, Faith cocked an eyebrow at me.  I know she expected me to react to her words and lash right back, but I didn't.  I only glared.  I didn't need to strike back with words, because what was coming her way would outdo anything I ever said.  

Her measuring eyes slid over me, Johnny—who had come to stand beside me again, Dillon on the other side of him, and then rounded back and settled on Jason, who was positioned to my left, his arm around my back in a rare show of brotherly affection.  Faith smiled at him coldly.

"My, my, my," she hummed, her tone dripping with sex, as it always was.  "So the rumors _are_ true.  Big brother returns.  Welcome back, Jason.  After Bunny bit the big one, I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

Silent but seething, Jason's hand fisted around the leather of my coat.  I felt the material straining at my shoulders.  The tenuous grasp he had on his control was slipping, and fast.  And I suffered the sudden jolt of awareness that if I didn't intervene, Jason would do one of two things:  Kill Faith right here or turn around and leave me all alone again.  

My money was on the latter.  I quickly cut in front of Jason—his hand oddly not releasing my coat—and blocked him from Faith's view.  Well, for the most part anyhow.  "Don't be swayed by my brother's presence, Faith," I said, drawing the blonde's attention.  "I'm still the one in charge here.  Jason is merely sitting in on this meeting."

"Oh, I see. Just adding a little _oomph_ to the defensive line, huh?"  She leaned around me and narrowed her eyes at Jason appraisingly. "You must be quite pleased to have Sonny's favorite boy back in action." She said, straightening as her gaze sprung back to me.  The bitch still had that hideous smile on her face.  "Heaven knows you need the protection, dearie.  I mean, I don't know if you've noticed or not, but it's _dreadfully_ hazardous to be you.  Or, well, to be a Morgan at all, come to think of it."

Johnny moved up sharply at my side, but the sudden materialization of Lorenzo Alcazar between Faith and I quickly neutralized the situation.  "That's enough," Alcazar ordered her, taking the obnoxious blonde by the arm and urging her back toward the warehouse entrance.  "This is supposed to civil."  

Faith pouted a moment, then flashed an evil grin at me, and winked at Jason before turning around and heading inside.  As soon as she disappeared I felt some of the tension leave Jason's body and his death grip on my jacket loosen somewhat.  But only somewhat.  Lorenzo Alcazar hadn't followed Faith indoors.  

The drug lord turned to me and offered up a half smile.  "It's wonderful to see you out and about, Mrs. Cassadine."  His eyes did a furtive pass of my form and I shuddered with disgust.  It wasn't that Lorenzo Alcazar wasn't a handsome man—because he was.  It was more the fact that his pattern of interest was sickeningly predictable.  First Carly, then Courtney for a while—if you can believe that, and now me, not to mention whatever barf-fest it was he had going on with Faith.  Oh yeah, this guy definitely needed to test other markets. His Mob woman obsession was becoming disgustingly habitual. "You're looking remarkably well." 

I cocked my head to the side and put on my best forced smile.  "Oh yes," I said, lashes fluttering. "Nothing like a little lead in the blood to put the pep back in a girl's step.  You should try it sometime, Mr. Alcazar," I said, closing the hearty gap between us. "Who knows, maybe I could even do the honors myself."

Somewhere behind me I heard a muffled snicker, and then a thud, followed by a very accusatory "Ow!".  _Dillon_, I groaned mentally.  Dillon _and_ Johnny.  Great, I'm trying to be intimidating and my back-up decides to strike up their version of _Abbott & Costello_.  Alcazar's eyes amusedly unfastened from mine and drifted over my shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.  At that moment I could have killed them.  

"Perhaps we should get on with this, Mrs. Cassadine," Alcazar said, refocusing on me.  "It appears that your troops are getting restless." 

With that said, he turned and disappeared into the warehouse as well.  I rounded on Dillon and Johnny.  Dillon was glaring reproachfully at Johnny while he rubbed the back of his head and my Lieutenant's face was absolutely expressionless.  Except for his eyes.  His eyes were wisely guarded and doing their level best to look innocent.  They were failing.

"Inside," I ordered the pair stiffly, moving out-of-the-way to allow them passage. "_Now._" 

Dillon hurried in but Johnny—as I had predicted—hovered at my side, looking between me and Jason with untrusting eyes.  He slipped a hand around my arm and tugged.  "Come on," he urged me, still looking directly at Jason.  "I'm here.  You don't need him for—"

"The Boss just gave you an order, Johnny."  I don't think words even existed to explain the glint in my brother's eyes as he cut Johnny off cold.  But whatever its proper name was, _'unnerving'_ suited it well enough at the time.  "I'd obey it if I were you."

Anybody from the outside looking in, would have suspected the former bodyguard was chewing on glass as he glared at Jason.  But anyone who knew Johnny, who knew me, and who even knew Jason, would have seen, underneath the obvious dislike, a fear there.  After all these years Johnny was still afraid of Jason.  Whether it was fear of the man himself or fear of what that man wanted, I didn't know.  But the true reason for its existence was immaterial, because this lingering fear—which was perhaps even beyond Johnny's control—was why he removed his hand from my arm and followed after Dillon without uttering one word of argument.

As soon as Johnny had gone, Jason moved to do the same.  But I stopped him midway, my hand seizing his arm tightly.  He looked down at me, but he wasn't surprised.  Just those few moments in Faith's presence had shown that I was wrong.  Jason did still want retribution, and maybe even more than I did.  I was being selfish here.  Everyone believed going into this meeting would hurt me, in one way or another.  But what about Jason?  What about all it would do to _him_?  For once someone needed to think about him.  And I knew I was the only one left to do that.  We both did.  

"You don't have to do this, Jason."

"I want to."  

Short and to the point.  The familiarity of it made my heart jump.  "No," I said, shaking my head, brown peering into gentle ice, "No, you don't."

I expected him to sigh and get frustrated with my insistence.  But he didn't.  He just looked down at my hand and stared at it for a long moment before covering it with his own and turning it over, gloved fingers interlacing with mine.  He brought our entwined hands to his chest and held them there.    "I'm not leaving you, Emily.  Not this time."

Like before, burning in his eyes, there was an oath I couldn't place and couldn't guarantee.  But also like before, it was there, and that was all that mattered to me.  Who cared if it was only temporary?  For the first time in six years I was looking into _my_ Jason's eyes, feeling the pressure of _his_ hand against mine, listening to _him_ speak, hearing his silent, calming promises to make everything all right—somehow, someway.  The brother who could fix anything was with me again, and he wasn't going to leave.  _Not this time.  _I smiled and squeezed his hand even tighter.  "Well, then, what are we waiting for?  Let's get this show on the road."

~*~

TBC…

Next Chapter: Split POV: Veiled threats run rampant, certain blondes are pegged for death, secret weapons are revealed, the oblivious turn out not to be so oblivious, and new strategies are developed—much to everyone's dislike.  

And, yes, I promised Elizabeth last chapter but didn't deliver.  She will **definitely** be in the next chapter, along with Georgie.   Cross my heart people.  Seriously.  Stick a needle in my eye and all.

a/n:  So, you hate me, right?  Was the Johnny/Em thing too much, too predictable, too _WTF_?  See, I hope not, because it was planned from the start.  I even dropped hints here and there through the last four chapters.  But just so we're clear.  Emily does care about Johnny.  She just doesn't love him.  What she does love about him is knowing that he's just as stained as she is.  She doesn't have to pretend with him like she does with everyone else, because with Johnny he knows all the nitty-gritty that goes on behind the scene.  He actually carries it out for her.  So yeah; Em is going through a bit of an 'I'm not worthy stage' when it comes to the people in her life.  And I'm not trying to devalue Johnny's character; I'm just saying that she feels more comfortable with him because there aren't any expectations, or any preconceptions.  He's not comparing her to 'the old Emily'.  Even Jason isn't guilty of that.

So, if that whole thing was a curve ball, don't unbuckle just yet, guys.  Because there's more coming, much, much more.  Don't be fooled by the temporary lull Em and Jason have found.  So, I guess I'm offering up another warning here, but only because I know how hard it will be to read through what may seem like complete character obliteration.  And, I guess, to some extent that will be true.  The core characters of this story will be steadily abused, and I mean torn down, ripped to shreds kind of angst/drama here.  But then—and this is the best part—I'll get to build them all back up again.  I mean, a slate has to be dirty to wipe it clean, right? :o)

So, from here on out, I won't add anymore warnings.  I'll just hope that my readers keep reading and keep reviewing, and that this story isn't sucking too badly. *lol*  Take care all, see you in 2 weeks! ~Loke *hugs aplenty*


	6. Let It Burn

**Fettered Ties**

**Author:** Loke

**Email:** gentleicehotmail.com 

**Rating:** PG-13, for violence, sprinkles of bad language (f-word included), and dark themes. (Will change later on, maybe, if I get complaints)

**Summary:** Courtney was gone. Grief drove Jason away, and, in his absence, I became what I despised, but also what I loved with such fierce and fatal loyalty. I became my brother, _for_ my brother, in _his_ name and in pursuit of what he wouldn't take. And it nearly killed me.

**Feedback:** loved and appreciated as always! It helps to know what you guys think, good or bad. Just be gentle, that's all I ask, lol.

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, and despite my many pleas, I still own noting associated with "General Hospital". I know… sucks to be me. 

**(a/n) **peeks out So, I'm a royal butthead, aren't I? I did it again. I made a deadline promise and then I flaked. I'm sorry! Here is where I would normally say it won't happen again, but, come on, we all know it will. Heh. Anyway, read on and I hope you like! Don't forget to review! Loke

**To my wonderful reviewers: Amy, Stephie1974, Joy, Marian, and Tamara: **I'm short on time so I can't reply one-by-one, but I just wanted to take a sec to thank you all so much for your kind words and your continued support (you know who you are!). I'm pretty sure I'd just put this thing to bed if it weren't for you. Thanks for keeping me going!! I love you guys! Loke

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**Chapter Five: let it burn**

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**Emily POV**

_"So, what are we watching?"_

_Courtney's voice filled up the penthouse and I, hunched over a stack of borrowed DVDs from Dillon, shot her a smile from my spot on the floor. "Um… right now it's between The Godfather—" I paused and we shared a mutual eye-roll as she unceremoniously plunked down on the sofa. "—Die Hard 1, 2, or 3, and… Executive Decision."_

_My sister-in-law's eyebrows pulled skyward, her mouth quirking into an almost-smile. "That's quite the testosterone driven selection you've got there, Em."_

_Sighing, I looked down at the movies and shook my head. "I know. The sacrifices I make for that man. But look it," I said, seizing a wayward DVD case from the coffee table and holding it out proudly for her to see. The movie I held in my hands was silly as hell, a true testament to my utter dorkiness, but I loved it. And I knew she did too. Amazing the things you learn about a person when you become cohabitant. Even more amazing was the fact that not another soul—except for Elizabeth—knew about my affinity for this eighties romance set in the Catskills. I considered it probably my darkest, most well-kept secret. And I found it royally cool to know I had gained a partner in which to bask in my geeky bliss. "Somebody did some shopping," I beamed. "Collector's edition and all."_

_The second Courtney's eyes locked with our mutual guilty pleasure flick, her whole face lit up and she lurched upright. "Our movie!" she squealed happily, something that was so not a Courtney thing to do. But after only a second of glee, her face fell sharply and she surrendered yet again to the enveloping cushiness of Jason's couch. "You might as well put it away, Em," she sighed heavily. "Your brother's never going to go for that."_

_"We don't know that for sure," I countered, shuffling on my knees across the floor toward her with hopeful eyes. "I mean, it's not all girly. There's sex. A couple times, too. That's bound to keep his attention for at least a little while."_

Courtney turned a doubtful eye my way. "Em, what is it that keeps your attention during those scenes? Is it the actual sex, or more the fact that Patrick Swayze is all young, cut, and shirtless?" 

_Well, the woman definitely had a point. I sullenly chucked the movie back onto the coffee table and shot the pile of action movies a reproachful glare. "Bruce Willis here we come."_

_Courtney laughed. "Try not to sound so excited."_

_"Excited about what?"_

_At the sound of Jason's voice, Courtney and I quickly turned cheerful faces toward the figure descending the stairs. _

_"Movie night."__ Courtney said, a sugary brightness—which, when coupled with both our absurdly large smiles could have easily been construed as over-kill—dotting her every syllable. But we didn't care. We were going to break him, and this was our strategy. Kill 'em with kindness. Oh, yeah. Bring on the saccharine-y goodness. _

_Jason looked between us blankly, but clearly suspicious and rightly so. "We have a movie night?"_

_I nodded enthusiastically as I got to my feet. I could see the wariness in my brother's eyes as I approached him, but, on strict orders, I completely ignored it. I grabbed a fistful of tee-shirt and dragged him over to the couch. "We do now. Sit."_

_He obliged, still glancing between Courtney and I like we were both officially off our rockers. "What's wrong with you two? Your faces look like they're gonna break."_

_Courtney settled gracefully next to her husband, armed with a brilliant smile. "Jason, your sister and I have been thinking—don't even say it—and we've decided that we need something non-work-related to pass the time with around here. That means no hospital talk for her and no running off to 'handle something' for you." Courtney's eyes grew soft and I knew, just _knew_ that she had him. Jason may not have been a movies and popcorn type of guy, but I could guarantee that in the next three seconds, she'd make him learn to be. "I want family time with my family, Jason. You know, something normal for once." _

_And the big guy caved. Like a house of cards in a hurricane. "Fine," he sighed, ice-blue eyes skating over the both of us with a half-smile. "I can do a movie. For you two."_

_"Perfect!" Courtney said happily, getting to her feet in a flash. "I'll go get the provisions."_

_As she winded her way out of sight to the kitchen, Jason spoke up again. "So, what are we watching?"_

_At the complete blank canvas of my brother's face, a conspiring thought took hold. Leaning forward from my perch on the couch, I palmed the DVD on the coffee table with ease. "Hey, Jase?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"You like Patrick Swayze, right?"_

* * *

For the life of me, I couldn't understand why that memory came on with such force, and at that particular moment. But as I stared at the platinum blonde across from me, I became eternally grateful for the recollection. It allowed the whole situation to settle into absolute clarity, to crystallize before me. 

Those happy moments of the day Courtney and I forced Jason to watch that insanely cheesy movie, were moments I would never have again. Something the man seated to my left would never have again.

And Faith Rosco was to blame for that.

And Faith Rosco would pay for that.

Today.

Folding my hands demurely atop the cheap folding table's battered surface, I smiled slow and confidently at her. Oh, if she only knew what I knew. "Well, Faith, we've assembled here-at your request—and still you have yet to speak your mind. Do you plan on sharing with us why we're all gathered so cozily, or do you think, perhaps, I can draw my own conclusions?"

Faith's eyes sparked, a twitter of evil swirling in the pale blue, and she smiled. Broad and sinful. "I think we all know what kind of conclusions you'll draw, Emily." Her eyes swept past me and landed once again on Jason. "So much like your brother you are. When all else fails, blame it on Faith. A tad predictable, don't you think? A little 'been there, done that'?"

I unsuccessfully smothered a snicker and leaned forward across the table. I had expected her to play out the old 'woe is Faith' angle, about how everyone and their mother constantly have the audacity to believe the worst of her. I just thought that this time, maybe _just this once_, that she would get it through that pretty blonde head of hers that making a game out of this was a very, very stupid thing to do. I suppose that should have been the tip-off right there. Faith and smart just don't go together. "Are you saying that I'd be incorrect in my assessment? Because if you are, I'd love for you to come out and say it, Faith. After all," I goaded her, using a sweep of my hand to gesture to the room's on-edge occupants. "You're among _friends_. Why don't we just cut the crap and get right to it. Deny you're involvement in my shooting, Faith. Come on. I dare ya."

Faith pressed a pale hand to her chest and rounded her mouth in perfect shock. "Emily," she gasped. "How could you ever think that I would do something like that? I mean to _you_, of all people." She swapped the shock for a lippy pout; while her eyes still managed to look like she had them on loan from the devil. "Sweetheart, don't you know how concerned I was to hear about your misfortune? Didn't you get the roses I sent you?"

"Oh, yes," I said dryly. "The dead ones. Lovely."

"Well, I thought so." She giggled, and leaned back in her chair, looking so smug all I wanted to do was stuff my handbag down her throat. _Later_, I told myself, trying to coax down the fire I could feel curling in the pit of my stomach, _just hold onto the anger for a little while longer._ Smile and push through. Focus on the endgame. You can do this.

"You know what, Faith?" I leaned forward on the table abruptly, and put on the brightest, most docile smile I could manage right then, the same one that had the whole town convinced of what a wonderfully delightful woman I was. If they only knew. "Right now I'm not really interested in what _you_ think." I coasted my gaze to the dark Venezuelan seated just to her left, the thus far _silent_, dark Venezuelan. Come now, she couldn't honestly have thought that one would have escaped me. The 'A' in _A&R Incorporated_ playing it all stoic and mute at a pivotal meting between holding powers in PC? Uh-huh. Sure. Somebody was being kept on a leash, and I intended to find out why. "I'm interested in _him_."

"Get in line, Babycakes." Her smile faltered just a bit as the deflecting quip rolled off her tongue. It was tiny, but it was there. And it made my day. Lorenzo, on the other hand? The man was all smiles. Be still my heart.

Not. 

"Lorenzo," I purred, eliciting the anticipated smirk from him and stutter of movement from both Johnny and Jason. "You've always been a very vocal man, or at least that's what I've gathered from our past dealings. Yet still you've sat there tonight as merely a bystander, watching. Not talking. At all." I tilted my head to the side and regarded him thoughtfully, knowing that my new 'approach' to him was transparent as hell, but also knowing that he didn't seem to give a damn. Not judging by the hungry flicker in his eyes as they dipped to places where one ought not to be gazing at a married woman. "I find it incredibly hard to believe that you haven't anything significant to contribute to this conversation. After all, you are Faith's… _partner_; this has everything to do with you."

He blinked and then smiled. Slowly and _disgustingly_ confident. Did I mention he had a bit of an arrogant streak? Yep. Like a mile wide. "I fully trust Faith can handle this, Mrs. Cassadine."

"And that, I'm afraid, was your first mistake," I said, earning a glare from Faith as she snaked her arm around his. I eyed the display with evident disgust. "—well, maybe not your _first_. But, if you speak up now, perhaps we can make it your last."

"Mrs. Cassadine, are you implying that I know something more about the attempt on your life? Do you think I'm withholding information?"

"No," I said, straightening rigidly. "I don't think you're withholding. I think you're lying."

Faith blew out a haughty whoosh of air and stood, leaning over the table with her palms flattened against it, making the mistake of getting dangerously close to being in my face. "Oh, gimmie a break, sweetheart. Haven't we already been through this? It isn't my fault you almost got yourself toasted like little Courtney Cotton Tail did." she whispered cattily. 

Jason, Johnny, Dillon, and Max were on their feet before her sentence even found completion. My three other guys that were there, Eric, Christopher, and Ron, had drawn closer around the table as well, anticipating the worst. I waved them off and stood, drawing myself up my full height, which, in those heels, happened to be about two inches taller than her. "Toasted…" I drew out the word, testing it like I'd never heard it before, savoring how the perfectly the woman had set it all up. Couldn't have scripted it any better myself. "What an _interesting_ choice of words, Faith."

She crossed her arms and stared back at me with that look of superiority she always had when dealing with me. She never took me seriously. Always assumed I was just a little girl playing at being the Big Bad. Well, you know what they say about making assumptions, right? Exactly. "Yeah," she snapped. "You know, as in _dead_. Deceased. Gone the way of all flesh. Pushing up daisies." She paused and batted her lashes. Her eyes flicked to Jason before settling back on me, the pale blue orbs dancing with a hateful glee I was confident only she could pull off. "Being Courtneyfied." 

And that was it, all it took to send Jason through the roof. He lunged across the table violently, grabbing a fistful of Faith's signature platinum blonde hair. Her men—Alcazar not included—sprang forward but it was too late; Jason had her head pinned to the table before I could even blink, secured ruthlessly against the scarred tabletop with one hand, while the other held a glinting .44 Magnum to her temple with such force I knew for sure there'd be a bruise there when he let her go. _If_ he let her go. 

"Say it again, Faith," he goaded her, his voice raw and unhinged, seething but still quiet. In short, scary as hell. "Just say it again." I winced as he drew her head up and slammed it back down. The table creaked violently and I looked up, suddenly aware that my brother's rage wasn't the only show going on. The room was in stand-off. Faith's three men had drawn on us, but my guys—even Dillon—were returning the favor, looking wicked in the process. With Alcazar still sitting, and smiling, the count was six to three. A win my book. 

"You don't have the right. You're not even good enough to say her name." And once again my attention was diverted. Jason's face was right next to Faith's and—good, _God_—I could feel his hate for her running off him like electric current, dwarfing mine with startling ease. 

She twisted in his grip but still didn't dare speak. Smart girl. For once. I moved forward tentatively, not really understanding why I was trying to stop this. I wanted her dead, after all. This was a _good thing_. But then why did it seem so wrong?

And then it dawned on me. 

This wasn't his place anymore. He'd abandoned this cause long ago. This was _my_ revenge, not his. "Jason—"

I wasn't allowed to finish as my brother's eyes clamped frantically onto mine, cementing me to my spot. "This is what you want, isn't it, Em?" He jabbed the gun's point deeper into her temple, coaxing a fearful shriek from Faith. "For me to kill her? To snap and put a bullet in her head right here? Isn't that why you wanted me to come tonight? So I could end this like you wanted me to all those years ago?"

_No. That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted you with me because I miss you, because despite what I say I need you, because I once _I_ end this, I want to have you close by again. Like before. I just want it to be like before. _Absurdly, I thought all of that as he stared at me. But thinking it and actually saying it are two completely different things. I still wasn't ready for that admission yet, didn't know if I ever would be. So, instead, I kept his gaze and tried my hardest to soften it with my own, but it didn't seem to be working. "Does it really matter what I tell you right now? You already believe that's the truth or you wouldn't have said it."

He shrugged, an utterly foreign hopelessness to the movement. "I don't know what to believe. I don't understand what's going on here anymore, Emily." His eyes swept the room and then settled back on me with the same look he'd used earlier that night in my bedroom. The one that made me feel hollow and fake. Like a liar and a fraud. "This isn't you. You don't play these games. You don't sit across from filth like _this_—" He shook Faith violently again. "—or like _him_—" He glared at Alcazar, who still seemed to be absorbing it all in stride. "—and try to make deals. You're my _sister_, Emily, you're not Sonny."

That, I hadn't been expecting. "You think I'm like Sonny?" I couldn't actually believe he'd just drawn that similarity between me and his former mentor. That was just… frighteningly accurate.

"You're acting just like him. You're cold and despondent, you shut down and push people—_me_—out, and all you ever do is punish yourself." He untangled his left hand from Faith's hair, but still kept his gun planted against her temple. He dipped his gaze and just stared at her for what seemed very much like an eternity, his chest heaving up and then down, his breathing echoing off the tin walls in the deathly quiet space. "This won't change anything, Emily. It won't make it stop hurting," he whispered, and I noticed his finger ease off the trigger, but only slightly. 

And, unbidden, a flash of pure defiance tore through me. "You don't know that," I spat viciously. "You don't know what seeing her die will stop or start for me. Not even I know that."

He looked up then, and I can't rightly tell you what it was that I saw in his eyes. But whatever it was gave me the sudden, _overpowering_ urge to cry. It was that powerful. That raw. Thank God he didn't keep it up for long.

His finger slid back against the trigger and his eyes narrowed upon his target and I wondered if this was how he used to look when Sonny would order him to take a life. If this was the place he'd force himself into just so he could pull the trigger. "Then let's find out. I'll kill her now and you can tell me what it makes you _feel_." Blue met brown again in the only way we knew how to anymore. Intensely. Bitterly. "Because I know how it makes _me_ feel. And it isn't better. Yeah, killing someone settles the score but it leaves you hallow inside. It leaves you cold. Just as cold as their bodies when you're through."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This isn't what I wanted to do right now. Not here, not in a roomful of people. Certainly not in front of Faith. "Jason, just—"

"Have you ever killed someone before, Emily?"

And the question stopped me cold. My eyes bolted open in shock. Now, there was something I'd never expected my brother to ask me. 

"I know you've ordered death; it's part of the job. But have you ever actually killed someone, with your own two hands—" Jason cocked back the hammer of his gun and Faith let out a desperate cry, but again chose to keep her movements to a minimum. This time Alcazar did stir, a furrow of uneasiness showing clearly on his brow. "—like this. Close. Right there. Have you ever seen someone take their last ragged breath because of something you did to them? Have you ever had someone else's blood on your hands, Emily, because _you_ put it there?"

Slowly, I shook my head. No. I'd never killed anyone before. Not like this. Not like him. 

"Good," he whispered, and just like that he released Faith. She leapt back from the table and all but ended up in Lorenzo's lap. "Try to keep it that way."

"Are you insane?!" Faith sputtered, clinging to her business partner and staring at Jason with wild, fearful eyes. "You almost killed me, you deranged son of a bitch! And for what? To prove a point to the little princess over here?!"

"Oh, shut your face, Faith, before I shoot you myself," I roared, and the blonde closed her mouth with a snap. I rounded on Jason who was making for the door. He'd just discredited me in front of my men. He—_Jason_—had actually _toyed_ with me, and it _really_ pissed me off. "Jason, what the hell was that all about?!" 

He stopped short of the door and faced me. The fight had seeped from his body and I knew—in that way we had—that though he'd never intended to actually go through with it, he had been so very close to pulling that trigger. He'd been on the edge, and I'd placed him there. I'd wanted to protect him, but all I'd done was watch him as he teetered there, on the brink. "I was showing you that it doesn't always have to end in death, Emily. Not matter how badly you want it."

I laughed as soon as his words were out. It sounded cruel and vicious and I couldn't help but wonder if the monster I'd become had a name, because it wasn't mine. It wasn't any part of _me_, of the girl he wanted me still to be. But, as had become my new way, I ignored the annoying tug of conscience and plunged on with as much scorn as I could gather. This was so much safer than the alternative, and I couldn't believe I'd actually entertained thoughts to contrary. I hated it, but the bitterness fit me now. It was me. And I was it. "Let me get this straight. You—the great Enforcer, Jason Morgan—is preaching to me the benefits of _benevolence_, of a _peaceful solution_? Are you kidding me?" 

"I've changed," he said, every syllable laced with an exhaustion that transcended the physical. It was a deep down tired that dwelled in your mind, and I knew this because aside from the bitterness, that feeling was in me also, weaved into every second of every day. Unavoidable and impossible to ignore. And it grated me, somewhere deep inside, to know that though the last thing I wanted was to be like him, this was just another thing we shared. Another thing that bonded us against my will. "I understand now how you used to feel about these things, how I know you still feel about them."

And once more the contradictions battling in me raged out of control. I understood so much more than I wanted to. I saw the pain in his eyes, the defeat. But underneath that, there lay an inexplicable resentment that I couldn't make go away, and an utterly childish need to hold onto that anger with everything I had. And, after only a split second of being at a crossroads with my brother, it truly didn't surprise me that the anger won out again. It always seemed to now days. And I don't think anyone could argue that point. "Like hell you do," I snapped at him. "You don't know anything about me anymore." 

I held back a shiver as he looked at me, cursing for the millions time his disturbing ability to look right through me, to pluck out my truths and shoot down my lies without making so much as a sound. But when he finally did speak, it was with an assurance trademark to him. A quiet, forceful whisper that managed, somehow, to echo in my ears like a scream. "Don't be so sure of that, Emily."

And then he walked out. But I knew he wasn't gone. I knew he'd be waiting outside that door for me and I knew this because goddamn-it he was right. He _did_ know me. He knew me better than I knew myself. And somehow I understood that would be the unraveling of it all. 

But, again, I didn't have much time to dwell. Not two seconds after Jason left, Faith's shrill invaded my ears again. "Well, I hope you and your psycho brother got your kicks tonight, because I can tell you right now that it will never happen—"

"Faith, if I were you, I'd stop yammering and count myself as a _very_ lucky woman." I glowered at the blonde and I reached for my handbag, drawing greedily upon every ounce of disgust and malice I felt for her, because that was the ticket right now. The only way I'd be able to go through with this. "You dodged a bullet tonight—literally. Don't expect that that to happen again. In fact, don't expect much of anything, because, frankly, with the way this little get together went, I'll be surprised if you make it through the night." 

She gaped at me, incredulous. "Was that a threat, Baby Girl?" 

"Nah," I smiled broadly as Johnny holstered his weapon and came to stand beside me again. "Threats have a tendency of being empty in this town. Call it more a forecast, if you will." With a nod to Alcazar for reasons I'm sure escaped everyone but me at that moment, I headed for the door, my men behind me.

"Oh, and, Faith, just a quick question," I called out over my shoulder, leveling the haughty bitch with one more pitying glance. "Are you sure you're warm enough in that little number?" I gestured to the skimpy black—big surprise—dress that clung to her Barbie-doll form. "You look like you're positively freezing."

"What the hell are you talking about," She sneered at me. "Of course I'm cold. We're _all_ cold. It's the middle of winter out there."

"Huh," I said, a tiny grin springing to my lips. This was it. A little more… dramatic than what Jason almost did, but good nonetheless. And at least this way she'd be able to watch her end getting closer, knowing every horrifying moment that went by, that it was me, the little girl she never leaned to be afraid of, who finally did what Sonny Corinthos had been trying to do ever since he met her: Give her exactly what she deserved. "Well, let's see if we can't warm you up a bit, shall we? You have a nice night, Faith. This was fun. Shame we won't be doing it again."

With a wink and another dazzling smile I was on my way, leaving Faith staring after me, a realization that would never see the light of day slowly taking root in her bleached head.

After six long years, I was about to close a chapter in my life. And Faith was about to loose hers forever.

Cold and hallow? Well, I guess I'd just have to find out for myself.

Sorry, Jase.

**Dillon POV**

"Johnny, secure Alcazar and the guards and bar then the doors." I watched as Emily's reserve men scrambled into action, dragging Alcazar and Faith's three guards from the building at gunpoint. They were quickly neutralized; knocked unconscious and bound by the railing. At the same time Max and Eric were conjuring up an industrial chain and lock from seemingly nowhere, using it to trap the lagging Faith Rosco inside. I watched the doors give a violent sway as someone pushed heavily on it from the inside. Faith's yells of protest soon followed it. "—and grab the bag from the car." For a moment I thought someone else had spoken. There was a vicious detachment in Emily's tone that made my blood ice over with its foreignness. Something that cruel just didn't fit with Emily. Not sweet, caring, generous, fair Emily. 

And it seemed I wasn't the only one to register the switch. 

"Emily, no." In less than a second, Jason was in front of her. Now, I've seen many emotions play on my cousin's face before, you know, the cousin everyone says isn't supposed to be able to truly feel, but right then, clear as day, I saw a gambit of real life feelings showing in Jason's eyes. And desperation seemed the most resonant. "I know what you're doing and you have to stop."

And she laughed. Emily actually laughed. Right in his face. But there was nothing happy about it. No, this laugh was cold and mirthless to the core. "Why the hell would I do that?" 

"Emily. _Please_. This isn't who you are."

"Yes it is, Jason. Like it or not, I really don't care. This—" she paused, eyes blazing and pointed to the barred warehouse doors, the doors that were shaking violently as Faith pounded relentlessly against them. "—is _exactly_ who I am. Get used to it, big brother." She went to step away, to move closer to the door, but Jason grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her back against him. 

"Think about what you're doing, Emily. Think about what you're sacri…" But Jason's plea seemed to fade from his lips as he watched Johnny reemerge from the night, a dark bag over his shoulder.

And that's when it happened. My gut clenched in realization. Now I knew why Jason was fighting so hard for his sister to hear him.

From the ominous bag, the bag that had taken the words straight from my cousin's mouth, Johnny drew out a gas can. And doused the warehouse door with its contents. Dipping into his pocket, he pulled out a silver lighter that gleamed in the moonlight, smiling broadly at his boss, proudly… eagerly. The sight made my stomach turn over.

"All it needs now is the spark," Johnny said, holding out the lighter to Emily like an offering almost. "Care to do the honors, Em?"

**Jason POV**

I'd never wished Johnny ill-will in all the time I'd known him, but at that second, I wanted nothing more than to kill him where he stood. What the hell was he doing? Couldn't he see how close to the edge Emily was? Didn't he care what he was pushing her into? The son-of-a-bitch might as well have been handing her a bottle of pills instead of a lighter. It was the same damn thing—dangling a quick fix in front of someone who wanted something so bad they were practically shaking with need.

I felt her struggle in my arms and that was all the catalyst I needed. I may not have known what the hell I was doing there, but I knew _why_ I was there. To help Emily. A concept that was once second nature to me. And maybe it would be again someday. All I had to do was find the right thread to pull on… 

"I know you want her dead," I whispered to her in the way I used to, softly, devoid of judgment or anger, the mere feeling of it bringing back a surge of memories. Flashes in time when this was my place and my sworn duty. To be next to her, in front of her…standing between her and an abyss. At all costs. Doing whatever it took. Save and protect. _Save and protect… _

_'…That girl in there loves you with everything she has, Jason; you were the only one she turned to. Now, I can't say that I'm devastated over what happened, but she is. He was her brother. Just like you. But now he's gone—forever—and she's in so much pain that she' doesn't know what to do with herself. She's in a bad place, and if you don't do something that darkness she's in is only going to get deeper and scarier. So, don't just hover by the door—go in there and put all your own feelings aside. Be there, Jason. Save her from this. Right now I think you're the only one who can….'_

Oh, _God_, I hadn't heard those words in forever. But as they swam back toward me from the past I rarely visited, I knew it had to be some sort of sign. Courtney wouldn't let me skimp on my duties then, and, maybe, as illogical as it seemed, she wasn't letting me now. That same darkness that had seized Emily then, just after A.J.'s death, just before she took my name, was back again, with a vengeance. And just as I'd kept her from being swallowed up then, I'd save her that same fate now. What choice did I have? It was only us now. We were all we had anymore. 

"Emily, look at me." Trying to sympathize with her need for vengeance wasn't the right thread now, making her remember the part of her that would be appalled by this was, because I knew that, though buried, _that_ Emily was still in her, screaming in protest against this. At how wrong this was. 

She went on as if she hadn't heard me, her eyes fixated on the lighter. God, I could feel how much she wanted this; it was coursing through her, buzzing just under the surface, and, to be honest, it really scared me. Seeing that need for destruction in her. "Emily…" and I knew my next words would be a cheap shot, but sometimes those were the only kinds that worked, the only choice you have. "What would Courtney think if she could see this? If she could see you. Right now. What would she say, Em?"

And when her eyes met mine, I wasn't sure what I had been expecting, but it wasn't at all what I got. Because what I got was anger like I'd never seen burning right through me. Funny, she had always told _I_ pierced _her_ with _my_ eyes…and right now I felt like she was staring a gaping whole though _my_ head.

And it didn't relent, didn't waver, she didn't even blink. She just held it, looking at me like I'd stabbed her through the heart or something. Like I'd just done something utterly unforgivable, which, in a way, I had. Completely.

I'd broken one of my sister's rules. I tried to remind her she was human. How awful of me.

"Leave it," she called out to Johnny, backing away from me with such force I nearly stumbled. 

I didn't see the confusion flash in his eyes, but I sure as hell heard it in his voice. Thick as mud. Sharp as broken glass. "Wait—hold up a second, Em, you can't be seri—"

"It'll keep, Johnny," she barked at him, eyes still steadily trained on me as she widened the divide between us. Yards seeming like miles, like years. Sure, I'd kept her from cooking up Faith extra-crispy, but at what cost? The woman looking back at me wasn't one that seemed even the least bit appreciative. No, she seemed…_hateful_. That alone felt like being shot. Not in the heart, but in the gut. Where you could really feel it. Where it hurt like hell. "We're finished here."

And it was true. Dead true. She _was_ finished here. 

_We_ were finished here. In more ways than one.

* * *

**TBC…**

**(a/n) **Just a quick heads up. This chapter was originally part of a ridiculously large chap I was working on, but, after reading through it and nearly going blind, I decided to chop it up. So that means in a few day (and that is a promise, like, on my cat's life!) the second half w/ the botched meeting fallout _and_ Elizabeth & Georgie will be posted. It's about 95% done; I just have to fill in the character thoughts on the ending. So, until then, enjoy this angsty-bit and I'll see you guys in a few days! Take care!! Loke :o)


	7. No Way

**Fettered Ties**

**Author:** Loke

**Email:**

**(a/n) **See! I told you I'd be back. [grins] Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that a decent chunk of this chapter is done in the third person, or Omniscient POV. I did that because those scenes involved quite a few people, and I though an outer view of it might work a little better. It won't be a permanent thing, though. The next chapter will be back in first person. All right, so that's it from me. Go read and please don't forget to review. They mean a lot and help me figure out whether to keep going or not. Anyway, take care!! Loke

**To my wonderful reviewers: Amy, Joy, Marian, and Bethany **(yay!!! You're back. And from _Scotland_?!?! I'm jealous!!! You lucky duck… It's great to hear from you again! I missed ya, girl![hugs]), thank you all so, so, so, _so_ much. Like I've said before, you keep me going and I love you for it! [grins] Loke :D****

Oh, and sorry in advance if there any major typos in this. This post was sort of rushed.

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**Jason POV**

So, I don't learn my lesson. I think that much is obvious from my past. Just look at Carly. How many times, exactly, did I clean up after her messes? And how long was it before I finally realized she'd have to take care of her own problems one day, without me? Yeah. Exactly. Never. I didn't stop trying to take care of her; _she_ stopped letting me. If she hadn't moved away, I'd probably still be trying to right all her wrongs to some degree, at least. And it was exactly this train of thinking that allowed me to justify my need to follow Emily home. Because this was what I did. I helped the people I loved. Sure, I was a bit rusty at it, but what is it they say about riding a bike? Once you learn, you never forget how?

Yeah. Something like that.

"Uh, Jason, I don't think this is such a good idea."

The protest belonged to Dillon, who also happened to be standing in Emily's doorway, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set and eyes jaded and very, very wary. Of me. And as he stared me down with that calculating glare I had once called my trademark, I couldn't help but notice just how out of place he seemed here, playing the part of a steadfast protector. Or at least trying his very best to. Because see, beyond the obvious maturity six whole years had given him, the young man in front of me still greatly resembled that oddball, bushy-haired cousin I'd never really made the time for. He was still Dillon. A good kid trying to keep someone he loved from something he viewed as bad for them. Now, I understand that he may have meant well, but if he honestly thought he was keeping me from the inside of my sister's penthouse, from my sister at all… well, then, he was just kidding himself on all sorts of levels.

"Dillon, don't make this difficult. Just move aside and let me go see her." He furrowed his brow and flicked the barren penthouse landscape behind him an apprehensive glance. I could see his conflict clearly. He loved Emily, too, and what he bore witness to on the docks had him thinking that maybe his cousin didn't have things as wired as he thought. That maybe—just maybe—there was something going on with her that was bigger than simple hatred. That ran deeper than anyone's thirst for revenge should.

But, like me way back when, blind loyalty often proved a very difficult habit to break. "I don't know, Jason…she really isn't in the mood to see—"

"Dillon…"

"Okay, okay, fine!" he yelled exasperated, his hands up in mock-surrender. "Look, she's not even here, okay? She isn't back from the docks yet."

I felt my stomach plummet with his admission, all sorts of scenarios for her being so late running through my head. None of them good. Most of them ending in an inferno on the docks. "Where did she go? Where is she, Dillon?"

A mirthless laugh split the air between us. "Like her watchdog would share _that_ information. I have no clue where she went to; I'm just here to see little D and Nikolas. That's all."

And again I could tell that he wasn't telling me everything. In his eyes, in the nervous twitch of his shoulder blades, I could plainly see that he was here for the same reason I was, whether he wanted to admit it or not. "You're worried about her, too, Dillon. Just say it. You're not here to see Demetri or Nikolas; you're here because you saw the same thing I did—that she's _this close_ to destroying herself completely."

He sighed, loud and deep, irritation and annoyance and all those wonderful little emotions that made this whole thing so damn _horrible_ scraping at his tone, filling it with malice. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. "And so what if I am, Jason? What happened back there was rough, and I know this may surprise you, but you're not the only one who cares about her, okay? I know Emily better than I know myself, and what I saw tonight freaked me the hell out because you were right; that _isn't_ who she is. She doesn't just do things like that. And the fact that she came so close to _burning someone alive_ tonight had me thinking that—_gee_, I don't know—she may need her _family_ when she got back."

His eyes hardened on me unflinchingly and I briefly wondered what in the hell went down in the past six years to make him capable of that kind of look, so full of anger and…hate. It never ceased to amaze me just how many things had changed, how many thing would never be the same again. "And as far as I'm concerned, man, aside from Nikolas, I'm the only family she's got left. So don't preach to me about how you're so concerned, about how all you want to do is help her like you used, because you gave up that job the minute you split and left her all alone. You're not her knight in shinning armor anymore, man. She's got her husband now to be that for her. She's got Lucky, Elizabeth, Me, Georgie, and even Johnny to help round it out. We need her and she needs us. But what she _doesn't_ need is you, and I'm kinda starting to think she never really did. "

Now, I realize that blood was all that tied me to Dillon. That I'd never really considered him my family, not like Emily was, and I also know that because of this, what he said should have just rolled right off my back, like comments from Edward and A.J. used to. But it didn't. No, instead it felt like being socked in the gut. And it wasn't because what Dillon had said was the truth, because it wasn't the truth at all. Dillon just whole-heartedly believed it was. And that was the part that stung, that anyone could believe Emily didn't need me, that she never did. Yeah, Emily needed Nikolas. She needed Dillon, and Lucky and Elizabeth and Georgie. And maybe she even needed Johnny—if you could figure that one. But Emily also needed me. And I needed her. I needed her a lot; I just never realized how much until a few hours ago, when I almost lost her forever. Because that's exactly what would have happened if she had set that warehouse on fire. She would have been lost. To herself and to me. And no matter what reservations I had about being back in town, loosing my sister was the one thing I couldn't do again. And no one—especially not Dillon, was going to keep me from her and from fixing this. Somehow. Someway.

I stepped forward, closing the gap between Dillon and me, summoning back a bit of the man I used to be—that guy who used to evoke fear everywhere he went—and looked him straight in the eye. "You're wrong, Dillon. Emily does need me. She is my sister and nothing you or anyone else says can change that. Now move it and let me in, before this gets ugly."

"The man does have a point, Dillon."

Instantly, Dillon rounded on the voice, watching with wide, confused eyes as Nikolas walked purposefully toward us from within the penthouse's depths. "Whoa—wait a sec, Nikolas," He said uneasily. "You heard Emily on the phone. She's pissed; I'm pretty sure the last thing she'll want is to have Jason waiting for her when she gets home…"

With an annoyingly regal sweep of his arm, Nikolas cleared Dillon from his path, sights set on me. "Come in, Jason," he said, effortlessly ignoring Dillon's fevered words of protest as he drew back the penthouse's heavy wooden door and stepped graciously clear of the entrance. "She'll be here any minute. Do make yourself comfortable."

**Emily POV**

"I can't believe that bastard!"

I closed my eyes to Johnny's furious tirade, wishing that I could only do the same for my ears. Ever since we left the docks and the warehouse that, to the best of my knowledge, still housed Faith, Johnny had done nothing but rant about what a miserable son of a bitch my brother was. Granted that, at the moment, it was a tune I completely sympathized with, it was still getting old. And fast. I mean, even good songs eventually get to be unbearable, especially after you beat them to death several times over within a twenty-five minute timeframe. "Johnny. _Please_. Just take a breath or something. And stop pacing; you're driving me up the wall."

He grinded to a halt and faced me with flashing eyes, chest heaving at a mile a minute. "How the hell can you be so calm? He just ruined _everything_. Two weeks of planning down the tubes!"

"Don't get dramatic," I sighed. "If there's anything I've learned over the years it's that there will always be another opportunity to balance the scales. _Always_."

He shook his head. "Not like that, Emily, and you know it. We had them--_both of them_--and he stepped in and fucked it all up!" And then his voice lost its edge, while his eyes gained a new glimmer of confusion. He was looking at me like I had three heads or something. "How could you do that? How could you let him back you down like that, after all this time?"

For lack of an explanation, I shrugged, giving Johnny what I could give a precious few these days. The absolute truth. "I don't know." And I didn't, not really. All I knew was that when Jason brought up Courtney's name, everything inside me started a dangerous crumble, and I suddenly couldn't stand being in my own skin. Halting Faith's execution had been my only means of escape from that feeling of being unclean and unworthy, and, at that moment, I'd been glad for it. "Maybe he was right, okay? Maybe that way _was_ too harsh."

He snorted his disagreement. "Yeah, you say that now, but I remember your tune being a little different before the almighty Jason Morgan got back in town and started sticking his nose where it don't belong."

Okay, so call it more of a sisterly thing. But no matter how pissed I was at Jason right now, that still didn't mean I liked hearing his name being used like a four letter word. He was still Jason Morgan, and that name demanded respect, despite my personal feelings. "Whoa—just back it up here, Johnny," I said, putting a hand to his chest in an effort to calm him down. "If anybody's _nose_ belongs in this—it's my brothers, okay? Let's not forget what tonight was supposed to be about."

"Payback," he said bitingly, shrugging off my hand. "Payback for what that bitch did to you… to the baby."

"And to _Courtney_. " I reminded him, feeling impatience beginning a slow coil in my gut. I knew he was upset about me getting hurt, but there was so much more to this, so much more he just didn't understand. "This is just as much about avenging her as anything else. And if turning Faith into smoldering piles of ash wasn't exactly the revenge Jason had in mind, then, you know what? I gotta give him that."

"Like hell you do," he snapped, his back suddenly filling up my field of vision as he wheeled around to face the opening doors of the elevator. "And how can we even be sure he wants revenge at all, huh?" he asked, making his way into the hall. "He hasn't wanted any for the past six years—"

"_Hello_, he had a _gun_ to her head. I though he was going to kill her right ther—"

"—All he's done since he got back is make you miserable, keeping you dangling on some imaginary string about whether he's back in the game or not. I'm tired of it, Emily. I'm tired of that asshole thinking he can just—"

I heaved a sigh. He wasn't even listening to me. Again. "You know what? I really don't think I want to tal—"

"—I mean who the hell does he think he is? He left you high and dry, and now all of sudden he's back in your life, trying to be the 'supportive big brother', to _fix_ everything? Bending you to his will, making you go against what you want—trying to put himself at your side again? Gimmie a fucking a break! What kind of cheap bullshit is tha—"

All right. That was it. "Johnny!"

Jerking to a stop just in front of my door, he blinked at me. _"What?"_

I shook my head and moved past him. "Could you just—_shut up_? Please? I don't want to do this," I said, allowing my doorman, Alex, to open the penthouse door for me, and stepping inside. Without even giving the living room a glance I turned to face Johnny full on. "Tonight was a royal disaster and right now all I want to do is go upstairs and see my son before Elizabeth and Georgie get here and I have to leave again. There will be no more discussion of my brother, and certainly not of Faith _or_ Alcazar. Understand?"

Waiting for some sign of agreement, I looked up into Johnny's dark eyes, only to find that they weren't focused on me at all, and that whatever it was he was looking at had caused his whole body to go rigid with palpable anger. Slowly, I turned around, already knowing exactly what was waiting for me.

There, on the couch, with his booted feet propped up on my coffee table, was my brother.

Great. Just fucking great.

**Omniscient POV**

It was a dismal scene. Gathered closely around an ornately carved wooden dining table, were five people who, indeed, wanted _anything_ but to be exactly where they found themselves. With each other. But, along with the palpable undercurrent of god-awful tension, these five people also shared something else. Grit. They may not have like this in the least, but none of them were going to leave, not until their worries were put to rest. Even if those worries varied greatly from person to person…

"So, uh…" Dillon, the youngest occupant by far, was also somehow the bravest in his attempt to break the tomb-like silence that hung over the table. They were the first words spoken in over ten minutes of dead silence. The perfect start? Not hardly, but it was something at least.

"Hey, you know when I was in Italy, the local movie theater had this really incredible festival going on chronicling the career of this controversial but, like, _groundbreaking_ Italian director, Mario Bava—have any of you heard of him?" Dillon paused and scanned the bowed heads around him, finding not so much as a nod of response. Not surprisingly, he didn't let it deter him. He waved it off and continued with fervor. "Never mind; doesn't matter. Anyway, the guy was actually like this truly fascinating figure in Italian—"

"You know what, D," Johnny interrupted him sharply, making Dillon jump slightly at his friend's tone. "If you're so interested in movies right now, Emily's still got that DVD collection you gave her for Christmas, why don't you go take a hike upstairs and play with them, huh?"

Dillon, by nature, was a passive kind of man, but there are some lines one just ought not to cross in his book. And this was one of them. He leveled Johnny with a glare. "First of all, _J_," Dillon overemphasized. "One doesn't _play_ with movies, okay? Movies are serious business—er, uh…unless they're a comedy—but that's beside the point! And _secondly_—" Dillon ticked off his reason's on his fingers. "I have just as much of a right to be here as you do… _jackass_…"

The last part was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and not well received. "I'm gonna ignore that because you're my friend, and I don't make a habit of strangling my friends."

"Oooh, I'm _so_ scared!" Dillon gasped in mock fear before resetting his mouth in a thin line. "Ignore it or not; I don't give a damn!" Dillon crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, looking disgruntle as hell. "Here I was trying to start up a nice conversation, you know, get the ball rolling a little bit, and—"

"You were yapping about some friggin' Italian director nobody gives a crap about!"

Red-faced, Dillon let out what sounded to most everyone seated at the table to be very much like a growl. "I was _trying_ to break the ice, you _Sopranos_ reject! _Jesus! _Try watching something other than ESPN and the Spice channel sometime; it just might do that thick Irish head of yours some good!"

Straight up fuming at this point, Johnny narrowed his eyes threateningly on the younger man. "Why you no good, little son of a—"

"Pfft. Like _that's_ a big secret! A word to the wise, Johnny, if you're looking to insult me you might want to try _not_ starting with my _mother_." Unable to help himself, Dillon chuckled at his friend's poor choice of targets. "Talk about wasted effort…"

It appeared laughing was doing nothing to cool the situation; Johnny's jaw worked furiously, his grip tightening mercilessly on the back of his chair. "How 'bout I just kick your ass, huh?"

And Dillon just smiled. A slow, confident, cocky smile that surprised no one at the table but Jason, who had never witnessed a display quite like this one before. "Oh, yeah?" Dillon challenged. "How 'bout you kiss it instead…"

The hand that had been griping the back of his chair was suddenly in the air, and was about a millimeter away from closing around Dillon's throat when—

"That's ENOUGH!" The sharp cry for order came from Emily herself, who, going unnoticed by all but one at the table, had come to be standing in front of her chair, hands set on her hips and—to half the room's occupants—managing to look an enticing mixture between sexy as the day was long, and scary as hell itself. She took a deep, calming breath and addressed both her Lieutenant and her cousin with a look that clearly stated who exactly was in charge of this situation.

"Look," she said tensely. "Dillon, I truly appreciate you trying to help this along, but to an extent, Johnny is right. If we're going to talk, movies won't be the topic of choice. We have much more pressing—_Johnny, you so much as smirk right now, and I swear to _God_ I'll bump you back down to parking cars._" Johnny quickly wiped the smile off his face, dipped his head, and Dillon let loose a bratty snicker that was smartly transformed into a cough when Emily turned her fiery gaze on him.

Recollecting herself, she swept her deep brown eyes over the men seated around her. Dillon and Johnny, both properly chastised, hung their heads dejectedly. Her eyes then drifted over her husband's proud smile and she couldn't help but smile back. But the smile faded abruptly when she looked to the last and final man at the table. Her brother. There, in his pale blue eyes, was that same pride that shown so lovingly in Nikolas's gaze. But with it were so many other things that she couldn't expose herself to it for long. Clearing her throat she sat back down and went about taking the reins again, doing what had become her life now. Leading.

"As I was saying, it's more than obvious that there are a lot of things you all feel the need to discus, and since it's become _overwhelming_ clear that none of you will leave my home until that happens, why don't I just start?" Jason, Nikolas, Johnny, and Dillon all nodded their agreement and allowed her to continue.

"Good," she said. "And since this all boils down to one question anyway, I'm going to go ahead and ask it. Point blank." Sighing she lifted her eyes directly to her brothers. "Who here wants me to kill Faith? Show of hands…"

Johnny's hand shot up and Nikolas gave him a withering look. "_Typical_," he mumbled darkly.

Lowering his hand, The Lieutenant's eyebrow went up. "You say something, Nik?"

"Who me?" Nikolas pressed a hand to his chest in question. "As a matter of fact I did, Johnny."

The smirk the prince bore seemed to hit its mark with expert precision; the vein at Johnny's temple throbbed viciously. "Is that so? Well, you fell like sharing with the class, Buddy?"

"Not particularly—" Nikolas glared coldly at the man across from him, alerting everyone—even Jason—to a tension of brutal proportions that had settled over the table. Any observer could see that Nikolas Cassadine and Johnny O'Brien were in no way fond of each other. "—_Buddy_."

Once again, Emily stepped in to squash the abhorrent display of testosterone. "Nikolas. Johnny. _Focus_," she said, her tone a little more soothing this time around. "So that's one vote for sending Faith to Barbie-Hell. Add mine and then that's two." She paused and looked at her husband and her brother. "I don't think I really need to ask, but what will it be for you two? Thumbs up, or a thumbs down?"

"This isn't a game, Emily," Jason interrupted, a deep set frown etched across his face.

"Yes, Jason, _I know that_," she snapped icily. "But the sooner I get this over with the sooner I can get to bed. Now, if you don't mind, a simple _yes_ or _no_ is all I need from you right now. Should I go ahead and have her killed?"

"No." A pair of narrowed blue eyes accompanied his answer.

"Fine," she said coolly, a quick bat of her lashes serving to cover the annoying flare of betrayal his vote had provoked. It was exactly what she'd expected, but it still stung to have him disagree with her. She supposed that no matter how far their relationship deteriorated that would always leave a mark of some kind, always burn somewhere inside, seeing Jason as the opposition. She wanted to believe that was a good sign, but not even the new brutal her could pull a silver lining from the state of things with Jason. There was just none to be found. Righting her thoughts, Emily turned from her brother to faced Nikolas. "And you? What do you think I should do?"

"You already know my answer, Emily. It hasn't changed," he answered her softly, his soulful brown eyes meeting hers. _Funny_, she thought. She knew he was essential standing against her, but she just couldn't bring herself to be upset with him. Not truly. Nikolas was her husband, but more and beyond that—her friend. He loved her and everything he did—whether she agreed with it or not—was done in the name of that love. How could she ever fault him for that?

Leaning back in her chair and observing the rest of the clustered group with annoyance, Emily sighed. "Okay," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It appears that we're at a stalemate, with one man undecided."

And at these words, all heads pivoted to Dillon, who had just come over with a very, very bad feeling in his stomach. He clenched his eyes closed and buried his face in his hands, refusing to look up. _Why him? _It was the first question that popped into his mind. Why did it always have to come down to him? Couldn't somebody else be the dude on the fence _for once_?

"Oh, Dillon," Emily's sing-song voice filled his ears and he peeked up to hazard a glance at her, apprehension filling his boyish face. "Looks like you're the swing vote, my dear."

He swallowed past the sizeable lump in his throat and looked anxiously at the faces of his beautiful cousin—to which he owed his life, basically; his cousin by marriage—who was more a brother, really; his other, decidedly scarier cousin, who, despite their differences, was still his flesh and blood; and lastly his best friend, who, at that particular moment, was looking very much like he'd have no problem kicking Dillon's ass right then and there. If this wasn't a 'damned if you, damned if you don't' situation, he really didn't know what was, and he had no desire to find out.

"But I don't wanna be the swing vote," he protest hesitantly, uncomfortable with suddenly being the focus of, well, _everyone_.

Johnny groaned in frustration to his left. "For God's sake Dillon, don't be such a wuss! Just step up and give Emily your vote."

Eyes wide, Dillon blinked. "Whoa, whoa, _whoa_—" He turned to Johnny and gaped at him, incredulous. "—did you just—did you just call me a _wuss_?"

The older man cocked an eyebrow. "If the dress fits."

At this, Dillon's eyes bugged with rage. "For your information, Johnny, I've been the swing vote before and I nearly lost my mind. I am not a wuss, okay?!" He shifted awkwardly and slumped back into his chair. "It just makes me very uncomfortable being the deciding factor, that's all." Johnny choked out a laugh that sounded conspicuously like "wuss!" and Dillon glowered at him. _"Bite me."_

Sighing, Emily pressed a hand to her forehead. Was wanting for her Lieutenant and the liaison to her foreign associates to behave like two, reasoned _adults_ really all that much to ask? Somehow, she didn't think so. "Dillon, your vote please… We don't have all night."

"All right. _Fine_. I vote—" A split second before the knee-jerk "yes" came out of his mouth, Dillon locked eyes with Jason. And what he saw there sent a jolt of guilt through his whole body. If he gave in and said yes and just let Emily do this, would he really be helping her, or would he just be enabling her? After all, a revenge quest like this was a lot like an addiction. Both could take you to some pretty scary places and make you do things you never imagined yourself capable of, all in the name of that coveted end result. Could he actually sit there and put his stamp of approval on something that had no possible chance of ending well for her? Wasn't part of his job to look out for her… to act in her _best interest_? With that thought in mind, Dillon delivered his answer. "I, uh… I vote to let Faith live, for now."

To miss the flash of hurt in his cousin's delicate brown eyes, Dillon would've needed to be blind. He bolted forward, panic in his face as he tried to soften the blow his vote had dealt her. "Did you notice how I added 'for now' onto my vote, Em? It leaves it pretty opened ended, I think. You know, subject to evaluation."

"Suck up." The derisive mutter came directly from Dillon's left. Johnny.

Now, Dillon would be the first to admit that Johnny and he had a unique bond. There was a lot of mutual mockery that went on—all in good fun of course—but at that very second, Dillon was having a hard time finding the 'fun' in any of this. He turned, once again, to Johnny. "_Dude_. Are you sure you want to go _there_ with me, man? Because I know some things that could blow the roof off this—"

"D, so help me _God_, one more word and you're gonna be watching your movies from a hospital bed at General." His glare flickered menacingly. "_Shut. Up. I meant it."_

Most men would have been scared shitless by a warning like that—but Dillon wasn't most men. Despite any disagreement, Johnny was his friend, and, as such, Dillon knew the threat was empty. Maybe even desperate—Dillon peered past the stone-faced glare—no, scratch that, it was _definitely_ desperate. "You want me to shut up?" Dillon demanded, not waiting for an answer. "Then may I suggest you kindly remove the stick from your ass, Johnny, and get the hell of my case! I wasn't sucking up, I was _trying_ to explain."

"And I appreciate that, Dillon," Emily said, lending her oddly calm voice to the latest explosion. "I really do. But it isn't necessary."

He turned to face her, his eyes alight with trepidation. "Emily, you know I'd do anything for you, but I can't let this happen. And I just want you to understand why I don't think this is a good idea. I love you and all I want is what's best for you, and this… this just isn't it, Em. I can't go along with this now and I—I don't want you to see it as a… a betrayal or—"

Emily smiled warmly at her younger cousin and placed her hand over his, squeezing lightly. Jason may have thought her to be like Sonny, but he was wrong. Sonny _would_ have seen this as a betrayal and taken it as cue to kick Dillon out, but she wouldn't do that to him. She still had limits, no matter what any of them thought. "I _don't_, Dillon. You're just worried about me, and I can't even tell you how touched I am by that. And the fact that you had the guts to stand up to me and speak out against something you view as wrong proves to me how loyal you truly are. You would never betray me, Dillon. You wouldn't even know how to."

An odd mixture of relief and confusion flooded him. "So… you're—you're not mad?"

"No. Like I said, I understand." She lifted her head and locked eyes with Jason. "Completely."

Johnny was the one to speak this time, quietly asking the question they had on all their minds. "You do?"

Nodding Emily got to her feet once more. "Yes, I do. As much as it pains me to say this, I think its only fair that I act in a way that reflects what the majority of you believe." With a massive sigh, she closed her eyes. "Faith lives… for now." She noted how Dillon and Nikolas' faces lit up, and she raised a hand to halt the smiles before they turned into blatant celebration. She wasn't finished quite yet. "Don't get excited," she warned them calmly. "I said she gets to live—don't mistake my concession for a buried hatchet. Faith will not die—yet, but I will make her wish she was. I'm going to take everything that woman has or even _thinks_ she has: her influence—real or imagined, her territory, her money, her dignity, her overblown pride… and, eventually, when the time is right, her life." Solemnly Emily's dark eyes addressed each table member in turn, locking lastly on the pale, familiar blue of her brother's. "My business with Faith Rosco is far from concluded."

**Elizabeth POV**

So, there I was, leaning against the side of a Yellow Cab, bundled up like a damn Eskimo, my once perfectly curled hair getting pushed all over the place, waiting. For Georgie. Big surprise there.

Blowing out an impatient breath I glared up at her and Dillon's building, not at all surprised to find their living room light still on.

"Oh, for the love of…" Wheeling around, I jerked open the door behind me and ducked my head inside the cab. "Hey, could you give the horn a blast?" I asked the cabbie. "I think my friend needs some encouragement here."

He gave a gruff laugh and slammed his meaty fist down on the horn, its wail echoing down the busy street, and, hopefully up to Georgie's fifth floor apartment, where it could get her to _hurry the hell up_. Yes, it was rude and kind of inconsiderate. But, hey, so was making one of your best friends wait in the _snow_ for ten minutes. Fair's fair in my book.

Shutting the door, I looked up… and grinned. Part of me knew this would happen. Well, okay maybe not _this_ exactly. But I did have a healthy knowledge of just how much she _hated_ to be honked at. Guess I just never knew _how_ _much_. Silhouetted in the window, was Dr. Prim and Proper, her precious, life-saving hand doing something decidedly un-Georgie. I tried to look affronted, but, _come on_. _Georgie?_ _Flipping_ _me off?_ I'm lucky I didn't double over with laughter right there on the street. And with a half-hearted glare and a drop of sapphire sheer, she disappeared from view, the apartment going dark a moment later.

Heh. Worked like a charm.

Three minutes later, Georgie came hurrying down the complex's front steps, her slim form wrapped up tightly in a wine-colored leather trench. Heels clicking, she approached me and the cab, eyes narrowed in disapproval. "Was that _really_ necessary?" she asked me.

"Probably not," I smirked, pulling open the cab's door again and climbing inside, her right behind. I heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "brat" under her breath, and I couldn't help but laugh. Georgie and I weren't what I'd call the usual pair of friends. Oh, we loved each other to death, of course, would do anything for each other and all that best friend junk, but our relationship had a bit more, how do you say… _bite_ to it? We never shied away from letting the zingers fly back and forth—in the nicest way possible, of course. We never—and I do mean _never_—sugar-coated any opinions—nor did we hold them back. And if one of us needed to be put in their place or called on their rampant bitchyness—Georgie and I never skipped a beat. But, like I said, we still loved each other. And, recently in particular, I'd realized just how vital Georgie was to my life. I mean, she wasn't Emily—no one was, but she still meant a hell of a lot to me, and always would. Snarky brattyness and all.

Once she settled into her side of the seat, Georgie let out a huff of air, and I knew exactly what was coming next. Emily. Never fail, come Tuesday night, the issue we, for the most part, managed to avoid all week through, would find us. And the conversation almost never managed to be an enjoyable one. In fact, most times it was downright depressing. And Jason's reappearance in town seemed to have upped the unpleasantness factor three fold. Goody.

"So…" she started uneasily, which didn't surprise me in the least. When it came to broaching this particular subject, Georgie and I were both guilty of being a tad apprehensive. It was just such a tenuous and, well, disheartening topic. It pulled the plug on our playful gusto rather efficiently. "Have you talked to her today?"

Oh, man, such a simple question, but then so completely _not_. Did I talk to her? Yes. Did it actually accomplish anything? Fat chance. Did I manage to help ease her burden like any decent, self-respecting friend should be able to? Ha. Oh, _yeah_, she's a regular Mary Sunshine now. Not a care in the world. Whistling while she works and lighting the world up with her smile. And its all thanks to me, good old Elizabeth, the world's Bestest Best Friend. I'm serious. There should be awards. Shaking my head and pushing down my belligerent sarcasm with great effort, I turned my gaze out the window not really seeing anything at all. "This morning," I said. "I called her."

There was a silence, long and contemplative. That was pretty standard practice when it came to Em nowadays. There usually wasn't much else for us to do but mull things over quietly. And there happened to be a lot to mull over recently. A lot.

"She is coming though… right?" Georgie went on, a bit of that insecure teenager she used to be peeking through. "I mean, she still wants to see us…" The sentence hung expectantly in the air and I knew Georgie was looking for me to assure her, but, frankly speaking? I wasn't so sure I could. I had no clue what Emily wanted and I doubted even _Emily _herself knew the answer to that question anymore. And that was exactly the problem.

But, despite my raging uncertainty, I plowed on with my usual pep talk. It didn't really matter if it was a lie or not anymore, I just think she needed to hear it. Hell, I think we both did. "Of course she wants to see us." I said, and smiled. Big and forced and fake as ever. "Who _wouldn't_ want to spend the evening with us? We're, like, fabulous."

Thankfully, it worked, somewhat, and I managed to pull a chuckle from her, as well as a playful shove. "Liz, I'm being serious here…"

"Yeah, and so am I." And I was. We _were_ fabulous, dammit. Bloody fabulous. But, as much as I would have loved to have my lame attempt at a topic change be the end of it, looking at her, into her worried eyes, I knew it wouldn't be. We'd have to talk about this. Whether I liked it or not. And I _so_ did not. "Okay, look," I sighed, pivoting a bit in my seat to face her. "I get how you're feeling. I get how hard it is to watch her like this, Georgie, to see how the shooting has just… ripped her apart, how having Jason around again is only making it, like, a billion times worse, and not being able to do a damn thing about any of it. It hurts inside, just _hurts_. It makes you feel helpless and insignificant and _totally_ redundant." I broke off and dipped my head, stupid, predictable tears beginning their calculated assault, locking up my throat and making my face go hot. See? _This_ was why I hated doing the 'State of Emily' thing. It just… it just took _so much_ out of me.

A whole two minutes had passed with me just sitting there, head bowed, fighting back the current behind my eyes when, unexpectedly, I felt Georgie tuck one of my wayward curls behind my ear. It made me want to cry even more. We could fight and argue like two mad women, but she had such a gentle, loving soul that she honestly just blew me sometimes.

"Do you remember last year," she asked me softly. "On the anniversary of A.J.'s death?" I met her eyes and nodded. God, how could I ever forget? Every year, starting sometimes even months previous, Emily would sink into these… blank spots. Georgie and I called them that because during those times, sometimes lasting weeks past the actual date, she'd become like the walking dead. Just going through the motions, emitting none of the spark that was her essence. It was a downright scary thing to see and last year she'd taken it to a completely different stratum. We'd never seen her so… defeated, so close to the edge. The edge of what, you may ask? Well, back then I'd been horrified to even think it, but most likely her sanity. Scary, huh? Yeah, we thought so.

"She was all over the place… just an absolute wreck," she continued. "But we brought her back. You and me, and Nikolas and Dillon. We helped her then, and we'll do it again." She caught my eye with a tiny smile. It faded quickly, but it still felt good to see it. I guess she wasn't the only one who needed to be lied to. "We are not redundant in this, Elizabeth. Far from it."

And she was right. We weren't redundant. Emily loved us, and we loved her. Oh, _God_, did we love her. And that was exactly why this was all so difficult, but also why we had to keep faith. Dabbing at my eyes, I pulled together a smile for her, for me. "I thought I was the one who did the reassuring in this relationship," I teased.

She shook her head and laughed leaning back into the seat. "Nah," she beamed. "I don't mind taking a strut in your uniform once in a while." She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I just hope you can recoup before we get to the penthouse." She let her head drop back against the rest, eyes heavenward. "We're gonna need to be operating on full power, especially after tonight—" Her voice faltered halfway thought the word and she suddenly turned completely away from me and toward the window.

I eyed the abrupt change warily; panic igniting in my gut as I watched her fidget nervously with the buttons on her coat. She'd just slipped up and said something that she'd probably been told not to. "What about tonight?" I prodded harshly, watching her shoulders jump at my tone. Okay, this was _not_ good. She was definitely hiding something. "Georgie, what did Dillon tell you?" No answer. "_Georgie_," I warned again. "If something was supposed to go down tonight and you know about it, _you have to tell me_. We aren't supposed to keep these sorts of things from each other, _remember_? Not when it has to do with Emily and her well-being." And just like that my tone had jumped from zero to bitch in nothing flat.

Georgie didn't seem very appreciative. Hey eyes snapped to mine. "I didn't keep anything from you," she hissed with a glare. "I'm telling you right now, aren't I? And for the love of God, would you just calm the hell down, you're starting to look like a tomato."

I could feel the burn of panic from before morph effortlessly into pure frustration as I looked at her. "This isn't a joke," I spat. "You know something and I want you to tell me what it is."

Her gaze narrowed on me. "_A joke_," she parroted, incredulous to the core. "Do I look like I'm laughing to you, Elizabeth?"

God, we really didn't have time for this. We'd be at Emily's in less than five minutes and I needed to know if I would have a destroyed best friend waiting for me when I got there. "Enough with this arguing crap. Just tell me what happened."

Sighing, she crossed her arms and focused resolutely on the plastic partition in front of her. "You aren't going to like it."

"Out with it, already." If she didn't open her mouth and spill in four seconds or less there would be definite violence. _"Geor-gie…"_

"Okay, _fine_," she huffed, still glaring at the scratched plastic. "She took a meeting with Faith Rosco tonight on the docks. Happy? Emily had a sit down with her mortal enemy."

And in that instant, I could have sworn someone had just socked me right in the gut. A meeting? With Faith? _Oh, God, no…_ How did Emily ever expect to get through that? "No way." Not my most intelligent reply ever, but it was all I could bring myself to say.

Georgie turned to me grave-faced. "_Yes_ way. Dillon told me. In fact, he's there right now. He went with her."

And hearing that actually helped, a lot. Dillon was good for her. He made her laugh, smile. It was a rare feat these days. But with the tiny bit of relief came a whole lot more of something else as a truly unsettling thought occurred to me. I'd only been wrapped up in the mob world for a short time, but I had a fairly good idea of what 'taking a meeting' with someone like Faith Rosco could equate to in Emily's case. _Especially_ in Emily's case. "You don't think that… I mean, she wouldn't…"

Georgie saw right past my ambiguity and frowned. Deeply. "Honestly?" she asked me, and I nodded, feeling oddly numb from the brain down. "There was a time when I would have said no way. That she could never—_ever_—do something like that. But now?" She shook her head, eyes drifting back to the passing nightscape. "Now, I really just don't know."

And with that said, I sunk defeated into my own seat, and waited. Waited for that feeling to wash over me—that little tug I'd get in my chest when things had gotten particularly dreary with Emily on occasion that told me everything would be okay. That I was overreacting, that I was just blowing things out of proportion, and that, eventually, no matter how bleak the outcome seemed, all would work out in the end.

It never came.

-----

TBC…

**(a/n)** Okay… so the battle lines have been drawn. Emily's out for nothing short of complete and total ruin and how she goes about it may very well up destroying everything in her life. But I'll shut up about the story particulars and just let you guys discover on your own. What I will say, thought, is that this marks the second part of our story, folks, where the actually plot comes in, lol. Hopefully you guys will be entertained. :o)

Oh, and I know I bring up A.J.'s death again in this chap… don't think I've forgotten about the explanation on that. It will come. Not for a while yet, but it will come.

All right, that's it for me for now, guys. I'm not even going to try and get another installment out in two week—look for the wait to be more towards a month. I changed jobs and I have, like, zero energy nowadays. Hope to see you guys soon! Loke


	8. Psycho Babble

**(a/n) **Hey all! Just a quick heads up on this story's direction. This chapter is (mostly) a plot builder, lots of me setting up future events and sequences, with an introduction of another well know character from the GH canvas (I loved bringing this person in!). Lots of scheming and plotting Emily and no Jason or Nikolas or Dillon or Johnny at all. Sorry. Jase/Em will be back strong for the next two chapters though. Promise. Okay, since this is a long one I'll let you guys go. Oh, and if any of you read my other fic, SIB, the update for that one hit a snag (a horrific, late night, power surge incident. Bah.), but I just wanted any interested know that I haven't forgotten about posting the new chapter… I just have to rewrite the whole friggin' thing, now. Should be another week and a half at the least. I'm really sorry about this. Anyway, read on and I hope you like it. –Loke

**Reviewers: **(look at that… I actually had the time to write out replies this time!)

**Joy:** Aawwwww… thank you! I always love reading your reviews; you have such great insights into each chapter and what going on with the characters—they make me smile. :o) And, yeah, Johnny was a real horse's backside in the last chapter. (sorry 'bout that!) But he's not in this one so you can read now without getting angry. Promise. :-p Thanks again for the review and the ongoing support, it means tons! --Loke

**Tamara:** You're back!! Yay! [does happy dance] And I'm so happy you liked the Dillon/Johnny stuff. I almost scrapped the whole bantering bit because I was having trouble getting it to flow right, but it feels good to know it you didn't think it was a swing and miss! :o) Thanks for reviewing, hon, and I'm sorry this one took so long to get out! --Loke

**Amy:** Thank you! And you've got Em/Liz (Georgie) interaction coming up right below. It's not that much, but there'll be more later on. :o) Thanks for the review, sweetie! --Loke

**EvenAngelsFall22:** A new reader! Whoohooo! Wait—you read 7 chapters in ONE sitting?! You're not blind are you? God, I hope not. That's quite a lot to digest in one sitting, and I commend you for delving into the mega-angst head first like that. It's more than I could do. I may write this thing, but when it comes to actually reading characters I love (Emily and Jason, namely) go through really bad stuff, I'm a _total_ wimp. I can't take it at all, lol. [-- You've taken the best parts of their personalities and formed them to create this absolutely amazing plotline that's so intricate incredible, that if General Hospital ever wants to do another spin-off show, they should definitely consider this as a guide to do so!—] OMG, that's a heavy compliment, hon. All I can say is thanks _so much!!_ And on a side note, you have no idea how much I would love to be an actual writer for the show. OMG, the horrible fun I'd have! Hee-Hee. I'd being doing evil things all over the place. All the actors would quit! LOL. Thank you for having the patience to read through all **7** chapters of this (that still gets me), Nicole, and thank you for the review, it means a lot. :o) --Loke

**Gabrielstar0135:** This is the first GH story you've read? So… does that mean I've, like, devirginized you? [gasp] Whoa, okay, that was dirty, I'm sorry. Moving on… (Hee-Hee). Thank you _so_ much for the review, hope I can keep you interested! --Loke

**Steph:** Thanks Steph!! And you've got two heavy Jason/Em chapters coming your way next update. :o) --Loke

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**Fettered Ties **

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**Chapter Seven: Psycho Babble **

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**Emily POV **

The evening, so far, had been… _quieter_ than I expected. The three of us—Liz, George, and I—started our girls' night Tuesday with dinner at Aurora, a small, elegant restaurant we'd come to think of as 'our place'. In truth, sitting across from the girls, I'd braced myself for some sort of lecture. I mean, the look in Georgie's eyes alone just screamed "what have you done?". Adding to that the scene both of them had come upon back at the penthouse… Well, let's just say I'd prepared myself for a quite different evening. But since that particular version of events never came to pass, I was left with something that, remarkably, held some semblance of normalcy. Or, at least, the normal I'd come to know.

We went about our usual idle chatter. Anything and everything. Though, if I had to put my finger on anything that was a bit… _off_, about the night, it would've been Liz and Georgie's conspicuous silence whenever I mentioned, however casually, my business. Now, these two are _very_ opinionated women. In fact, I usually have a difficult time shutting them up when it comes to my work. Seldom have they ever been without a comment on the subject, even if it was just to make their staunch disapproval known in that special way only best friends can. But tonight? Nothing. Not a peep. I noticed it, but I opted to let it go because, well, frankly, I'd already been lectured enough for one evening. I wanted to relax, and I think they sensed that, or at least that was the impression I got.

But the dinner wasn't all tried and true routine. Somewhere between my third glass of wine and Elizabeth's second helping of Chicken Piccata, Georgie threw out a question that started out perfectly innocent, but that somehow managed to lead us to a place that… well, I'm not too sure what. All I know is that something about that particular bout of conversation struck me as odd, and also confused the holy hell out of me. Not easy to do nowadays unless your name happened to start with "Ja" and end in "son".

Sipping idly at her own glass of wine, Georgie purposefully drew her brown eyes away from mine, letting them linger on the slow flicker of our table's candle as she spoke. "So… how's Lulu doing?"

Now, the first thing that got my attention was the way she averted her gaze. Georgie never does that. She has something to say, to ask me, she's going to be looking at me while she does it. But, see, the nature of the question was just so benign that I completely wrote off the eye thing, and gave my answer careful thought instead. "Lulu?" I smiled into my wine. "Well, she's… nineteen. And ass over elbows in love. She's _great_."

Elizabeth chuckled lightly to my right, but Georgie didn't even crack a smile. In fact, she became even more serious than before, back straight and eyes still trained resolutely away from mine—oddity number two. "Yeah, but I mean how's she _really_ handling this whole riff with her brothers?"

Whoa. Okay. Oddity number _three_, anyone?

I sat up a bit in my chair and glanced to my left, relieved to see Liz was looking just as _interested_ as I was, and that I wasn't just imagining the sheen of nervousness to both Georgie's words _and_ movements. "As well as can be expected," I answered her slowly, still not completely sure why Lulu and her fight with Nikolas and Lucky was worthy of Tuesday night convo. I mean, sure, we'd mentioned it before, but truthfully that whole mess was the boy's bag. I had enough Sibling Stress on my own plate. Don't borrow trouble, right?

Georgie's idle fingers grasped hold of an unused butter knife and began to fiddle with it. _Oddity number four._ When Georgie Jones-Quatermaine fiddles with silverware—_especially_ butter knives—she's either 1) hiding something, or 2) uncomfortable as all hell. Again, Liz and I locked eyes for a split second, her Chicken Piccata completely forgotten by now. "It's just a temporary thing, Georgie," Liz threw in with wariness I wasn't entirely clear on. "It'll be resolved eventually. There's nothing to get worried about."

"Oh, I know," Georgie said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But, well, I mean, I guess I just wanted to know…" The rambling question died on her lips with a frustrated sigh.

This time I chimed in. "Just wanted to know _what_, Georgie?"

At this, Georgie set down the butter knife with a clatter while heaving an even louder sigh and mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "fuck it". I don't think I even have to say it, but, what the_ hell?_ Georgie and swearing just don't mix. Ever. Finally she looked up at both of us, tense all the way through. "Look, the only reason I even mentioned it was because Lucky asked me to, all right?"

To my right, Liz let out a sharp _"What?!"_, and I… I was _completely_ lost. Something had just changed, only I had no idea what. Suddenly Elizabeth wasn't looking at Georgie like she had sprouted a nifty green horn in the center of her head (which, by the way, was how _I_ was looking at her), but, instead, like Georgie had just stripped off all her clothes and had started doing the merengue on the tabletop. Liz was _horrified_. And I was… _still_ clueless.

_"Lucky?"_ Elizabeth hissed. "Georgie, I thought we settled this!"

Georgie tensed, brow furling guilty. "I couldn't help it," she fired back. "He was just so upset—"

To my right, Liz _snorted_. "Oh, I just bet he was."

"Oh, come on, Elizabeth, please be reasonable," Georgie half pleaded, looking for all the world like a teenager trying to talk herself out of a grounding. "It was—"

"No big deal, _right_?" Liz leaned forward on the table, eyes narrowed and… _disappointed?_ Why would Liz be _disappointed_? Okay, now I was _really_ lost. Like, different Time Zone lost. "Where you going to say that this was just _no big deal_?" Elizabeth continued, a knife-edged clip to her words. "Is that the new reasoning of the day, Georgie?"

Georgie looked flabbergasted. I mean, flat-out _staggered_, right through to the bone. Her mouth opened, and then closed a few times, whatever she intended to say, or _wanted_ to say never making it past her lips.

So they stared at each other. Well, to be accurate, _Georgie_ stared; Liz glared. And this oddball standoff that had me straight up befuddled went on for nearly two ghastly minutes before it became quite clear that if I wanted the meal to progress at all, _I'd_ have to be the one doing the moving along. Screwing etiquette, I leaned across the tabletop on my elbows, glancing surreptitiously between my friends as I did so.

"Okay, well…" I ventured carefully, noting that my voice seemed all Georgie needed to break eye-contact again, the jumpy orbs floating to the napkin she was torturing in her lap. "How 'bout I start by asking if there's a reason why I feel like I just walked into a movie midway?"

Silence. Perfect.

I turned to Elizabeth, who was still staring fixedly at Georgie and her bowed head. "Come _on_, Liz," I said to her, it really sounding more like a plea. Hey, sue me, okay? Not knowing was _killing_ me. "It's, like, _painfully_ obvious that something's going on here. Spill, already."

Elizabeth managed to flick her eyes to mine. And they were brimming with apology, strained apology. She only held my gaze a moment before directing it pointedly at Georgie, as if to say "ask her".

And so I did.

"Georgie?" I got a slight twitch of eye-contact, but that was it. I sighed and pushed on. "Look, one second we're talking about Liz's new showing, the conversation lulled and you brought up Lulu and her fight with Nikolas and Lucky, and from there we spiraled into the freakin' Twilight Zone. I just don't understand what in the heck is going—"

There. She was looking at me. With shimmering eyes. The sight stopped me cold. I reached across and put a hand over hers, confused anew. "Oh, Georgie, honey, what on _Earth_ is going on here?"

"Nothing," she croaked unevenly, practically tearing her hands away from mine to dab furiously at her eyes, quickly clearing away what blinking could not. "It's… nothing, okay? Nothing you need to worry about."

That—_that_ kinda pissed me off. Just a bit. Sure, I'm freakishly busy, but I haven't forgotten that my friends need me. I would never do that. Never. "Hey, that's not fair," I shot back. "I know I have a lot on my plate, but I'm always available to you. You _know_ that."

She sighed. "That's not what I meant, Em. It's just that…" She seemed to be searching herself again for the right words to explain. And, after a long moment, it appeared they weren't ready to reveal themselves to her. She looked up, cast Elizabeth a glance that I'm sure meant _something_, though I couldn't tell you what, and then looked back to me, a small, forced smile on her lips. "Can we please just not talk about this right now? Just forget I even brought any of it up? Please?"

You have no idea how badly I wanted to hold her down and force her to tell me what was wrong, to make her and Liz just come clean with whatever it was that had Georgie _crying_. But, feeling the plea in her voice literally squeeze my heart, I swallowed the urge and returned her tiny smile. "Okay," I said with a nod. "We'll forget it."

And that's exactly what we did. We forgot and I forced my curiosity and concern surrounding the frustratingly odd moment to take a backseat to another bout of idle conversation, no matter how much it killed me to do so.

The rest of dinner passed quickly and before I knew it we were in the cab Liz had charmed away from some yuppie college kid, and pulling up curbside to Elizabeth's building, which happened to be just across the street form Georgie's. I peered out the frosted window at the imposing building known as The Waterside, PC's newest—and priciest—apartments in town. The apartment she shared with the husband _nobody_ saw coming. The one, the only (thank _God_), Jasper Jacks. I shook my head, hiding a smile. Of all the woman out there who I ever imagined might one day get the notorious jet-setting playboy that was the Jax of yore to actually settle down, and give up his tried and true accommodations at The Port Charles Hotel for something as permanent and binding as a three year lease, Elizabeth hadn't exactly been on the list. Or anywhere near it, for that matter. Yet, here she was, married to the guy, sharing a life with him… two months pregnant with his kid. It really made you wonder sometimes, made you think of just how different life can turn out from what you originally had planned. I'm just happy that, for her, that unexpected turn of events in her life-plan managed to end up pretty decent. She was happy, truly content with her life now. I wish I could've said the same.

"We'll see you on Sunday for sure, right?" Elizabeth's voice rocked me from my thoughts and I look at the seat next to me, only to find that its two occupants already outside, smiling gently at me from the sidewalk. I climbed out of the cab and stood beside them, wrapping my coat around me tightly.

"Sunday?" I asked, a little confused. _What the heck was on Sunday…?_

Georgie rolled her eyes and half-heartedly glared at me. "Yes, Em. _Sunday_. 'Drea's First Holy Communion. It's at St. Anthony's at nine. She's expecting you… everyone is."

Oh, man, I can't believe I forgot about that. Dillon never would have forgiven me if I'd missed his daughter's first communion. But, as my mind suddenly clamps on to the last itty-bitty part of Georgie's sentence, a Dillon tirade is no longer my concern. "Everyone?" I croaked, knowing, just _knowing_ that I must look like deer caught in the headlights to my friends. Everyone—Family—_Grandfather_. Me. Trapped together in a _church_, of all places. Could anybody say _'Oy Vei'_?

Georgie smile gently at me. "I know it's going to, well, _suck_ having to deal with the Quatermaines—God knows I hate it, but everything will be okay, Em. I guarantee it."

I laughed at that. The only person who could coral those maniacs was grandmother, and lately she hadn't been feeling well enough to attend family events. Georgie could try all she wanted to keep grandfather at bay and the hell away from me and my son, but she wouldn't succeed. I shot her a pleading look. "Can't you just tell them to go to hell? I mean, do they _really_ need to be there?"

"Emily, they're her family… however unfortunate that is—"

I couldn't help it, t he snort just sort of _happened_. Georgie's eyes went from sympathetic to full of warning.

"Don't be like this, okay?" she snapped. "I know it's going to be difficult for you, but you're not just Andrea's cousin, you're her godmother, and whether any of us like it our not, she is a Quatermaine, and they are going to be at the church on Sunday. Case closed. If you feel you can't handle it, then that's your decision. But just know that it'll be 'Drea who ends up being hurt in the end." Georgie's gaze narrowed on me. "Do you think that's fair, Emily? That my little girl should have to pay for the adults in her life not being able to suck it up and deal for one damn hour? Hmm?"

Oh, _hell_. How the heck was I suppose to argue with _that_ and not come out looking like a total villain? "No," I sighed wearily. "Of course not. I'll… I'll be there, okay? Bright and early. Smiling and everything."

Elizabeth, ever the skeptic, drew up on perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Promise?" she asked me.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes," I said. "Girl Scout's honor." I held up three fingers for the pledge, stealing a page from the Lucky Spencer Smartass Guide Book. "I will attend the First Holy Communion services of one Andrea-Marie Quatermaine, and I herby swear not to get into a screaming match with any member of my deranged family and/or allow Edward—the insufferable blowhard—to aggravate me into early departure from the gathering. And while in attendance, I promise that I will behave myself completely and utterly." Finishing, I smirked at them. "Is that good enough for you two?"

"Sure… if you'd actually _been_ a Girl Scout, _but_—" Georgie held up a hand to prevent me from peeling off another smartass retort, a smile on her face. "I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, here. If you say you'll behave yourself, then I believe you. And if it starts getting too… much for you, just keep thinking _'for 'Drea, for 'Drea'_ over and over and you should be tip-top in there, Em."

"Plus," Liz added to her left, brown eyes twinkling just so. "She's having Dillon wrangle a few of your guys to help keep the old man in line. If Edward wants to get anywhere near you or Demetri, he'll have to go through 650lbs of combined, suit-wearing muscle first. The situation will be contained—on all fronts."

I nodded my approval, opting not to share the doubt I had niggling at the edges of my mind. Sure, you could physically control my grandfather, but there would always be the glances, the longing, repenting looks he'd float at me. Not to mention the way he'd be looking at my son. Michael had slipped through grandfather's controlling fingertips once upon a time, and my little Demetri, though his heart didn't pump true Quatermaine blood, was the next best thing as far as the heir hungry Edward was concerned. I suppose a part of me—that little scrap left of who I used to be, felt sorry for him, for the fact that he'd managed in his life to drive away every one of his grandchildren… in some form or fashion. Yes, I did feel sorry for him. But not sorry enough. My son already had one torrid and unforgiving family legacy to overcome once he came of age, he didn't need another, especially not that of man that had shown just what disgusting depths he'd sink to in the name of the 'family business'. No, my son was clean and innocent, and the only way I'd ever let the Quatermaine or the Cassadine ugliness touch him, would be over my dead body.

"Well, it's settled then," I said, forcing a smile. "Barring an unforeseen catastrophic event, Nikolas, Demetri and I will all be there on Sunday."

Her face lit up and she stepped forward to wrap me up in a brief, careful hug. "Great. We'll see you there."

"You can count on it."

"Okay, well, that being settled, I better get going," Elizabeth broke in, flashing her watch a glance. "Jax should be home from is dinner with Alexis in a little bit." She paused to smile at me. "You wanna come up and have a drink, Em? Jax would love to see you."

Oh, I bet he would. See, Jax, affectionately known to me as Outdoorsman Ken, had recently taken my poor city girl Liz on a trek through Nepal. _Nepal!_ And ever since their return, had been trying everything in his power to get me to come with them on their next big adventure. He was convinced that a getaway of Jacks proportions was all I needed to speed along the healing process, and, in typical Jax fashion was being relentless in his pimpage of the idea. It wasn't that I didn't like Jax, because I did—really. It was just that, well… I'm his wife's best friend. I know what kind of weird and wacky stuff he gets up to on those gallivants of his, and I already considered my day-to-day enough of a hazard without adding globe trotting with Jasper Jacks, the well-intentioned corporate raider and part-time explorer, who almost always manages to piss off the locals, and come about _this close_ to sparking an international incident, to my list of activities. Needless to say, I'd been artfully dodging the tenacious Aussie for a good week now, and I had no intention of breaking the streak tonight, even if a nice, stiff drink sounded like heaven after the day I'd had.

I smiled demurely and shook my head. "Thanks, babe, but no thanks. There's no _way_ I'm going up there where that husband of yours will have full opportunity to use his boyish good looks to trap and coerce me into grandiose vacation plans. You ain't getting this girl up there until he finds himself another pet-project."

"Have you _met_ my husband?" Elizabeth laughed. "That man won't rest until he's got you, Nikolas, and Demetri all sitting in a row on that jet of his. Depriving the poor dear of your company is only going to make the guy try even harder, Em."

"Well, Sweetie," I smiled back, drifting forward to give her a hug goodnight. "Then that's just the chance I'll have to take. Besides," I said as I pulled back and flashed my own watch a glance. "My evening isn't over yet. I have one more stop to make."

Georgie let out a dramatic sigh. "More business, Em? Haven't you put yourself through enough for one day?"

What a mother hen. I may have capped the girl by five years, but that did nothing to stave her protective nature. A person would think the over-protectiveness would have started to wear thin by now, as with any mother's doting attentions, but, somehow, with Georgie it was just downright adorable. She cared, and she made no show of veiling it. The simplicity of her concern was something I treasured—but never missed the opportunity to mock, good-naturedly, of course. It was too much fun not to. "Don't worry, mommy," I smirked. "It's just a quick stop over at my attorney's and then right on back home like a good little mobster."

Georgie grimaced like a fiend. She just hated it when I mob referenced. "Cute," she said dryly. "Real cute, Em."

"Wait," Liz broke in, her eyebrows drown together as she looked at me. "It told you that Alexis is out with Jax. How are you going to have legal council if she's being wined and dined by my husband?"

"Well," I said, smiling in that way Nikolas told me almost always meant trouble. Big Trouble. "Alexis wasn't quite the attorney I had in mind."

-----

Five minutes, two more hugs goodbye, and an elevator ride later, I was walking purposefully down the hallway of my attorney's building, stilettos clicking merrily in my wake, with Max trailing dutifully behind.

This felt good, productive, like an offensive maneuver, doing what I was doing. Like I was taking a step _toward_ something instead of gutlessly backing down from it, as I had done countless times that day. Granted what I was moving toward wasn't exactly Faith Rosco's head on a platter, but it was something that would appease me until such wonderful fantasies could be realized.

See, I couldn't off the bitch—I had made that pesky promise, after all. But I _could_ begin laying the ground work for my pledge of taking every godforsaken thing she held dear away from her. Starting with her hold on the docks. And to do that… well, let's just say I needed to think outside of the box for that one. And the person I was going to see knew all about dabbling in the unconventional… and the underhanded. He was reformed now, a real stand-up guy, but there are some things, like being a conniving worm, that a man just never forgets how to do. He may have been above reproach in the present, but that evil knowledge still lurked somewhere in his stunning mind, and I intended to plunder it for all it was worth. Plus, the man had an intimate knowledge of my target… _both_ of them, their strengths—apparent as well as unperceived, their cleverly-concealed weaknesses, and how to deftly beat past one to manipulate the other. On the whole, this man was in the position to do me an invaluable service. And I knew he would; he still loved to flex his muscles of evil genius from time to time, even if it was only vicariously through me, the bad seed he didn't think was all _that_ bad.

Finally, my destination was reached as I came to a halt at the end of a ridiculously long hallway and on the other side of a large maple door, adorned with a gleaming 'PH3'. I knocked twice, settled my weight against the frame, and waited.

I didn't have to wait long.

The door swung slowly open to reveal a perfectly framed picture of arrogance made flesh. Lovable arrogance, in his special case.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite mobster."

Okay, so maybe not _so_ lovable. More…mildly likable, when he _wasn't_ being extremely irritating. "Hello to you, too, Ric. I see you still know how to make a girl feel welcome."

And out came that brilliant smile, the one I'm sure he was certain had the power to turn bone into jelly. Wolfish grin intact, he reached across the threshold and grabbed my hand. He tugged me inside and then poked his head into the hall, seeking out my devoted guard with his persuasive gaze.

"This might be a while, Max. Why don't you go see what the guys are doing? I think Artie's got a replay of the Rangers game going in there."

Max, loyal as the sunrise, looked to me, and I gave him an encouraging nod. Eyes lighting in a tiny smile, Max threw me a "thanks Emily", turned and made for the 'guard post' down the hall. It was a studio unit Ric had converted into a lounge like for his own security to spend their downtime. With as much as I frequented Alexis and Ric's place, Max and even Johnny had become pretty tight with Artie and the boys. And that room sure did help in keeping them out from underfoot during times like these.

"Now," Ric's voice rebounded off the open air of his penthouse and brought me sharply back to the task at hand. "A part of me feels I don't even have to ask what this visit is in regard to, but another…"

"Is curious as all hell?" I offered, making myself comfortable on the settee in the middle of the spacious living room.

Ric eyed me shrewdly, as he was known to do with people, dissecting my demeanor, and using its nuances to carefully evaluate his response. Good God, he was _such_ a lawyer sometimes. A beat passed before he finally answered, and when he did, I almost felt like giving the man a gold star for cutting through the bullshit.

"I hear you tried to burn Faith alive tonight."

I didn't flinch, not that he'd expected me to. He knew better than that by now. "Looks like good news travels fast," I said. "I'm happy. Having you up to speed is gonna save us loads of time, here."

It was small, some would even say miniscule, but there, in the darting depths of his brown eyes, I saw a tell-tale glint that told me I had successfully piqued the lawyer's interest. "Time for what, exactly?" he asked, voice smooth and calculating; in a word: Ric.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the dismantling of a certain blonde, with a first name that's an absolute gem of irony."

Ric cocked an eyebrow. "And by dismantling, you mean…" A wedding-band adorned hand gestured at the air coaxingly.

I sighed. Like I said, I liked the guy, loved him even, but damned if he didn't have an annoying flare for dramatics. "Ric, you're not clueless, so if you could please stop acting like it…"

"Pardon me, dear niece-in-law, if I seem a tad confused here," he shot back at me, not snapped, mind you, but the austerity in his voice was obvious. "But not four hours ago, you were prepared to turn Faith Rosco into kindling. But then, you, in a move even more shocking than actually attempting to burn a woman alive, stood _down _at the last possible second, leaving her trapped inside a MW Sands & Co. Warehouse on Pier 48 in an epic flap, but otherwise unharmed. Perhaps, if you were to look at it from my standpoint, Emily, you could begin to understand why I'm just a little bit unclear about your intentions for Faith." He paused and looked at me, seriousness staving off his inner smartass for just a moment. "That was quite the mixed signal you just sent."

"To whom?"

"Faith, for starters. The newly reinstated five families. _Your_ family… Jason."

I laughed at that one. "Jason? Why the hell would I care about what _Jason_ thinks anymore?"

Ric, who had meandered over to the bar, looked back at me, leveling me with another one of his trademark, X-Ray glances. Sometimes, and _oh_ how he would hate to hear this one, Ric really rather reminded me of Jason. He too possessed that uncanny ability to peer straight past my deflective rhetoric and general bullshit to the truth. I really hated that. "That's just the problem," he said, filling a simple rocks glass with clear liquor. Vodka. Straight up. No ice. No fancy glass. Ric's 'things are about to get heavy' drink. _Shit._ "You care entirely too much about what Jason thinks. And I'm willing to bet that's precisely why Faith is still breathing. Because your reformed brother managed to throw a big fat monkey wrench in your plans this evening."

See what I mean? Annoying as fu—

"Don't bother glaring at me, Emily. We both know Jason is the only person on this planet who could have ever gotten you to step away from a sure thing like that. You had the woman locked in a _doused_ warehouse, for Christ's sake. A toss of a match and Faith would have been but an unpleasant memory."

Every syllable was true—_of-bloody-course_—but I wasn't about to admit it. I didn't even want to admit it to _myself_. I'd spent the last few years telling anyone who'd listen, that Jason Morgan didn't mean a damn thing to me. How the hell was I supposed to explain that all it took for me to crumble like some spineless dolt was for him to look at me with those godforsaken blue eyes and utter one tiny buzzword? How could I ever explain the unnatural power Jason still had over me when I didn't even understand it? So, once again, I chose aversion, my new best friend.

"How do you even know all this stuff, anyway" I snapped at him, exasperated. And it was a completely valid question, aside from being a diversion tactic. This had all gone down on a secluded section of the docks, under pitch black cover of night. The fact that he knew so many details of my unfortunate evening raised more than a few red flags.

He shrugged off the question, gently swirling the colorless liquid that filled his glass. "I have my ways."

"You mean your spies?" I countered.

And he only looked at me, something that said far more than words ever could. _Goddamnit_. I should have known. "Which one?" I asked. "Which one of my guys have you turned Canary."

Ric laughed and made his way back to the couch, handing me my own drink as he sat. "Calm, down, Emily. I swear I haven't turned any of your thugs into songbirds... yet"

Seizing the glass—a stout tumbler that was all but brimming—I eyed his smug smirk with evident distaste. "That is _not_ amusing. We're talking about my life, here, Mr. District Attorney."

Ric sighed and pressed back into the cushions. "Not that I think it really needs to be said, seeing as though I always believed this to be a sort of unspoken understanding between us, but my position as DA has no bearing on my relationship with you, Emily, nor will it ever. I wish you could just accept that already."

I took a hearty swill of my drink to hide an eye-roll. Did he _honestly_ think I didn't remember his epic battles with Sonny? Sonny was Ric's _brother_, and I was just his relation by marriage and sort of, kind of friend, and part-time drinking buddy; what chance did I possibly stand against the great District Attorney Richard Lansing?

"That's a nice fantasy, Ric, but get real. In the eyes of everyone in this town you're the good guy and I'm the bad guy; you're _expected_ to spend every waking moment of your existence doggedly pursuing my lifetime incarceration. There's gonna come a day, Ric, despite what you may want, where turning a blind eye for the sake of friendship won't be an option any longer."

"That will never happen, Emily." I looked at him disbelievingly, and his eyes softened just a bit. "Look," he said softly. "I'll be honest with you. Yes, it is my job to lock up the 'bad guys', but you, dearie, are not one of them. Not by a long shot."

"Oh, gimmie a break…" I mumbled into my glass. "You know what I am. What I do."

"That's exactly my point—I _do_ know you," he protested, swiveling in his seat to face me fully. "You may walk the walk, talk the talk and, hell, cross more than the occasional line, but deep down you're still just—"

"If you say 'the sweet, caring girl you used to be', I'm going to slap you. Hard. Right across the nose."

"Well, then wind up, sweetheart, because it's the truth. You're not your brother, and you're certainly not mine, and you never could be, Emily." He smiled softly at me, genuinely, and I felt my heart melt just a little. He really wasn't all that bad, I guess. "You're far too good for that."

Aw, _man_. He just _had_ to go and ruin it, didn't he?

_Good?_ I was about as far removed from _good_ as you could get. Nope, Saint Emily no longer lived here. She _and_ her precious 'virtue' hit the bricks eons ago. And they weren't coming back. Ever. I took a long drink of the waning liquid in my glass, let it sting its way down my throat, welcoming the burn. Why did everything, _everything,_ have to come back around to something that I'd lost? Why couldn't I have one fucking conversation that didn't end in me pining after something or someone that could never be mine again? Sometimes… sometimes I really just wanted to cry. Nice, huh? Big Bad Emily Morgan-Cassadine, Mob Momma Extraordinaire, just wanted to ball her eyes out sometimes, just wanted to let some of it go, any of it, so that maybe… maybe it wouldn't hurt so much anymore. Maybe. _Maybe_. God, there was another word I was really starting to hate, and I mean with a righteous passion. _Maybe_. These days my life was all nevers, maybes, and probably nots. I remember when it used to be full of always, anythings, and forevers. I remember when it used to be a lot of things it isn't now. And with that final thought, I screwed my eyes shut in disgust. See what I mean? Constantly wanting now. Constantly reaching for things that aren't there any more. Things that can never be there again. Fucking pathetic.

Silence had weaved its crafty way around us, a fact that I became oblivious to in my self-loathing haze. That was, until I felt a warm arm settle on my shoulders.

"Believe it or not, Emily," he said in a low vice that may have actually passed as soothing, if he hadn't been him and I hadn't been me. "I know… how you feel."

I hadn't expected him to say that, but now that he'd gotten the words out, the statement struck me right in the chest, because, well, I guess he actually _did_. Not many people, many people I could still look at anyway, could say that. Ric did know how I felt. He'd been there… _here_, in this… space. This void that was dark and scary, and at the same time felt so much like home it made you sick inside. He'd walked this path, even teetered on that same precipice of madness that I'd been known to. Except the only difference was that he'd it made through the other side, he kept himself from falling over the edge completely, and I… I couldn't be sure if I'd ever be able to make that claim. Couldn't be sure if I hadn't already fallen more times than I could ever get up.

"You're hurting," he went on, and though part of me really wanted to stop him, probably the same part that couldn't handle talking to Jason anymore, another, more tired part, let him speak. "I can see it your eyes," he said. "In the way you move. Everything from your smiles to your scowls. It's just… _pain_. Plain and simple, and oh god, Em, I've been there. I've been right where you are."

His hand that had been stroking a gentle rhythm on my arm, tensed now, and I knew the memories were coming back. The darkness of his time with Elizabeth. The depths to which he'd allowed himself to sink in the name of revenge.

"At my lowest point I stood over Elizabeth with a pillow poised above her face. I was actually going to kill her, Emily, until something, maybe the last flickers of humanity that were left in me at that time, maybe even God himself, gave me the strength to realize what insanity I had slipped into, allowed me to stop myself before it was too late." It wasn't a shock; he'd revealed this horror to me before. But it still made me wince, and not just because Elizabeth was my best friend, but because, well… I could actually understand it. I mean, I would _never_ harm Nikolas, I had no reason, insane or otherwise, to do so, but still… I was disturbingly familiar with that kind of desperation. I'd lived and breathed an irrational need for destruction the whole year after Courtney's death. Some say I still do.

"And I don't know if you'll ever reach that kind of a low," he said. "Since wanting to exact revenge on the woman who took a wrecking ball to you and your family's lives, and being prepared to sacrifice someone you love in order to keep a reprehensible secret from being exposed are two _entirely_ different things, but I just want you to know that if it you ever do find yourself at that junction again, like tonight, where you feel like your something, everything inside you is hinging on a single decision…" Words tapered as he met my eyes, a sad, but comforting smile shading his face. "I'm here." He set his glass aside and covered my hand with his own in a movement that was uncharacteristically tender for our relationship. "I just want you to understand that, no matter how bleak it may seem, if I, the original irredeemable psychopath, can step back and turn that pain and anger and hate into _this_…" his eyes roved fondly over the place he called home with Alexis and Kristina, his wife of seven years and the step-daughter/niece that positively adored him. "Then you, Emily…you can _definitely_ be okay again."

Damn. What… what on _Earth_ do you say to something like that? And, secondly, what _was_ that? A declaration of loyalty is what I wanted to call it, but that may have only been the mob-side of my brain talking. A promise of friendship, unwavering friendship, seemed to fit all Ric had just said so much better, and, to tell you the truth I wasn't sure what to do with it. I just didn't understand. Nikolas, Johnny, Lucky, Elizabeth, Dillon, Georgie, Jax, Alexis, even Jason, in his strained way, and now Ric… how in the hell could someone as royally fucked up as me possibly deserve such blind devotion from so many people? I just… I didn't get it. Didn't they know I wasn't worth it? Couldn't they see that they were putting their faith and encouragement behind someone who just wasn't there anymore? How could they not see that?

Gazing lost at my lap and gripping onto the almost-empty glass in my hand like it was some kind of a lifeline, I struggled with what to say. Ric had just poured his heart out to me and tried to do the older brother thing—which still puzzled me—I couldn't just leave him hanging. I had to say _something_, however inadequate it ended up sounding…

"I, uh…I…" Okay, so not the most articulate response in history, but, come _on_. This was quite the load to process here. Ric was already looking down my Road of Recovery, or whatever the hell people called it, planning my 'She Made It' party at the finish line. And me? Ha. I don't think I'd even started down it yet. Hell, I was probably still stuck on some abandoned stretch of back-road, miles and miles away, with a flat tire and a cracked engine block. Who knew if I'd even get there at all? I couldn't think that far ahead. I had a hard time with thinking _ten minutes_ ahead, and my inability to finish my sentence only seemed to illustrate that fact perfectly. After a moment of opening and closing my mouth like some beached tuna, I finally gave up and let my head fall back on Ric's arm with a defeated sigh.

Whatever reaction I'd anticipated out of my 'uncle-in-law', the one I got sure wasn't it. Ric, with a gentleness that nearly startled me, swept my hair back from my face and pressed a simple, chaste kiss to my forehead. "I know, kiddo. I know," he whispered reassuringly. "There's a lot of hurt to work through. Especially in your case. But, eventually, despite how impossible or how appallingly corny it sounds, especially coming from me, you'll get past this. It'll be okay. Trust me, Em."

_It'll be okay. Trust me, Em._ God, how could two little sentences make you want to take a flying leap of a rooftop… again? _It'll be okay. Trust me, Em._ The statement, the reassurance, it floated teasingly through my mind, but not in Ric's voice… but in Jason's. So many times, more than I could ever count, my brother, during a time when he was like a god in my eyes, had said those very words to me, softly and with so much conviction I could actually _feel_ it, while he stared deeply into my eyes, always deeply. While I sat cradled in the warm nest of his arms. While he gently stoked my hair and tried to lull me into dreamless sleep. While I still believed he meant it. While I still believed it could be true.

And I guess that was where I hit that infamous wall of mine, because, in a flash, I had opened my eyes, lifted my head, and straightened my back.

Ric was right, partly at least. I _would_ get past this, 'this' being Faith and the immense problem she represented. I would most definitely get past it, and I would start tonight. Like I said, it may not be nearly as satisfying as seeing her take her last, gasping breath, as Jason put it, but it would have to do. For now. My mental track righted and refocused, I looked up at Ric.

"I appreciate the pep talk, Ric, but I didn't come here for a counseling session. I came here to talk strategy. With you."

He looked at me for a long, measured moment, and then carefully withdrew his arm and turned forward. With what looked a hell of a lot like a brood, he took up his glass again and stared blankly ahead. "What do you have in mind?"

By the beaten edge to his words, I knew that I'd gone and done it again. Screwed up a good moment and pushed someone away who was only trying to help. It sent a pang through my gut, but I couldn't afford to dwell right now. Time wasn't on my side, and, with any luck, after tonight it wouldn't be on Faith's either.

"Lorenzo Alcazar," I said.

And this seemed to catch his attention pretty well. Damn well, actually. Ric looked at me, brows furrowed, a tiny smile pulling at his lips. "You're going straight for the heart, aren't you?" Was that _pride_ I heard in his voice? Wouldn't have surprised me one bit, not if the giddy glint in his eyes was any indication.

"The knees, actually," I smiled. "Everybody and their brother—pardon the phase—know that Faith is only the presence she is because Alcazar's in her corner."

"And you mean to change that?"

I smirked at him. This was what I needed from Ric right now. The calculating brilliance that lurked beneath the charming, 'I'm-a-good-guy-now-honest' grin. "I most certainly do. _But_," I poked at his bicep with a finger. "I can't do it without you."

He shook his head. "Oh, no you don't. I may pretend not to be listening when your name comes up in legal matters, but there's no way I'm letting you drag me into a plot against Lorenzo Alcazar. That's not a line I'm going to cross again. No way."

I let his speech go on uninterrupted because I knew he needed to get it out. He may have still possessed a healthy appreciation for my wicked ways, but he really was flying straight now. I didn't blame him for wanting to make that clear. But hell if I'd let him know that. "If you're finished now, Ric," I said teasingly. "Do you think maybe you could let _me_?

He rolled his eyes and motioned dramatically for me to go on. "By all means."

"Thank you," I said, turning a bit in my seat so I could face him more fully. "Now, as I was saying. I need you." His eyebrows went up and I waved him off. "Don't get yourself in a twist. I need your _advice_. That's all."

"My advice?"

"Yes," I said. "You worked for Luis Alcazar, and you had direct dealings with Lorenzo—"

Ric's eyes filled with warning. "Emily, we've gone over this. That was a time in my life that I'm not particularly proud—"

Not even breaking stride I spoke over him. "—and I know you don't like talking about it, Ric, but your past with the Alcazars can offer me insight no one else can, here." The skeptical look he gave me made it apparent that a little persuasion would be in order. "Look," I sighed. "You think my brother is the reason I didn't kill Faith. Fine. You're right. It was Jason. Initially. And then, somehow, me getting…scared turned into a vow of restraint that literally makes me sick, but what I'm trying to say is that regardless of _why_, as of tonight, Faith's death has been postponed indefinitely. But that doesn't make it the end. Not by a long shot. There's a hell of a lot of _legal_ things that I can do to her, Ric, that'll make her wish she _were_ dead. And number one on that list is taking away her power. And that power is directly connected to Alcazar's backing of her. You know how this guys work, Ric, because once upon a time you were in with that miserable family, and because just how it's your job to shadow _me_, it's also your job to shadow _them_." I paused and let a grave look pass between us. "As much as it kills me, I made a promise to my husband, my brother, my cousin, and one of my dearest friends not to kill her, and I may be many things, but I'm no liar. I gave my word and I intend keep it. But I can't just sit by while she taunts me. I need to do _something_, Ric. And I know we really shouldn't even be having this conversation, but I'm here now and I'm asking, as your friend, will you please help me do this."

Over the past few years of my friendship with Ric, awkward and adversarial at the onset, we'd somehow reached a point where the awkwardness slipped away and made room for something that I supposed would forever remain unnamed. He could never explain the closeness between us, and I certainly couldn't, not even on a good day. I could call it the lacing together of two wounded souls, but that was far too poetic for me. I just knew that when push came to shove, that tie, that anomalous bond we'd forged, would win out over anything. Even Ric's pride.

Even his better judgment.

With closed eyes and a defeated sigh, Ric gave me exactly what I'd been wishing for:

"What do you want to know?"

-----

_An hour and a half later._

Our positions were much the same as they were when my little exploration of Ric's vaulted 'early years' began. I was still on the couch, only Ric was now sitting on the coffee table next to what _had_ been a fairly full bottle of quality vodka, looking an interesting mixture between appalled and… _blurry_.

"Emily, you—you can't be _serious_. Please tell me you're joking. Please." Oh, and he kinda sounded like he was underwater, too. Heh. "Emily. Emily, did you hear me?"

The slight bark in Ric's tone proved sobering. Well, okay, maybe not so much sobering as… attention grabbing. I straightened and looked straight at him, doing my best to ignore how he seemed to be flaring out at the edges. "Of course I heard you, silly. You're sitting right in front of me."

That didn't appear to amuse him in any measure because his eyes got all narrowed and squinty. "Emily, don't be cute. It doesn't suit you."

"It used to."

_"Emily."_ Now that, _that_ sounded like a growl. Why the hell was he being so uptight? It wasn't like I was suggesting unleashing the dogs of Mob-War on Alcazar. My method wasn't anything like that. No, in fact, it was, in my humble opinion, all very… civilized, in a really sneaky, somewhat icky kind of way. But I could deal with the icky. Honest, I could. But, apparently, Mr. Legal Eagle across from me was having a slightly more difficult time swallowing my—_our_ new idea. He was my inspiration, after all.

"Oh, unclench, would ya?" I said wearily, reaching for the not-quite-empty bottle of Belvedere to his right. "I don't know what bug crawled up you're a—"

"Give me that," he snapped, ripping the both the bottle _and_ the tumbler from my hands. "I'm officially cutting you off. I have no idea what I was thinking, letting you down practically half a bottle of premium vodka. When Alexis gets home, she's going to absolutely hit the roof…"

As Ric droned on, I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the couch cushions. God, I had no idea what time it was, but I knew it had to be late, like almost midnight late. If I wanted to still be married in the morning I knew I'd better get my butt off that couch, collect my guard, and get the hell home. With a sigh, and way more effort than it probably would have taken had I _not_ just gotten all free with the Spirits, I sat up again and tried to stand.

Operative word being _tried_.

I swayed on my feet and Ric's arms jutted out to steady me. He was scowling like a madman. "Alright, this is _exactly_ why I refuse to believe that you are serious about this new 'plan' for Alcazar. You're just drunk and—"

"And what Ric," I said from the protective halo of his arms. "Taking out of my ass?"

Ric rolled his eyes. "Geez, Em, I forgot how getting tanked brings out your eloquent side. The heiress lives."

"Bite me."

"Oh, and the lady's got a silver tongue to boot. Watch out, folks, no one's safe from this girl's witty repartee."

I glared so hard it made my head hurt. Okay, well, to be fair that throbbing pain was probably from something else… like seven (or was it eight?) shots I'd just had. That being said, the room started to spin like a record. I pressed a hand over my eyes and held onto Ric for dear life. "Holy shit, this is New York. We're not supposed to have earthquakes…" I mumbled into his chest.

Ric covered the back of my head with a steady hand. "Okay, I think its time for someone to go home." With a sigh, he gently lowered me back onto the couch. "Stay here while I go get Max, and don't… throw up on anything, okay?"

I wanted to toss a biting comment back, but to be honest most of my energy was focused on keeping Ric's living room from resembling a demented theme park ride. Note to Self: Hard liquor in exorbitant doses—NOT GOOD.

A few minutes later I heard the front door fly open and then: "Christ, Lansing! What the hell did you do?"

"Do? Max, I didn't _do_ anything."

"You know Emily can't hold her booze. A couple of shots and she's—_Belvedere?!_ _Straight?!_ Are you outta your fuckin' mind? _Jesus._ Why didn't you just brain her upside the head with the bottle and be done with it."

"Relax, Giambetti. Your boss is a big girl; I didn't force the stuff down her throat."

I popped open an eye and looked up at my bodyguard. Whoa. He _so_ didn't look happy. He looked like he wanted to pistol whip Ric where he stood. But then his gaze shifted to me and it softened considerably. He ducked down to my level and gave me a wan smile. "You okay, Em?" Gently he brushed my hair back from my face. "You set to go home now?"

Home. Oh, God, _yes_. I nodded and began sitting up, but the effort was impeded by a strong pair of arms clad in a Brooks Brothers jacket. "Easy does it," Max said softly, pulling me to my feet. I tried to shrug off the help—I wasn't _that_ drunk. I sure as hell didn't need to be carried around like some—

Son of a bitch, I freakin' swayed _again_. Damnit. And the Ric laughter? Yeah, didn't exactly need that. Glaring at my secret legal council, Max looped an arm around my waist and led us toward the door. "That's right, yuck it up, chucklehead," Max snapped. "She ralphs in the beamer and I'm gonna make you clean it up."

Ric moved past us to open the door. "She's not that drunk, Max. She may be a little tipsy on her feet but other than that she's perfectly fine. Oh, and, btw," Ric's hand came to rest on my shoulder. "Put that nonsense plan out of your head, Emily. It's too risky, and too insane."

"What plan?" Max asked.

I ignored Max's question and answered Ric instead. "You're just nervous because you helped me come up with it. Mr. Squeaky Clean DA got his hands a little dirty and helped hatch a plot for a takedown."

I felt Max's fingertips cut into my side a little. "Whoa—_takedown_? What Takedown, Emily?"

"It's nothing, Max," Ric said, eyes narrowed on me warningly. "Or at least it better be nothing." I might have been three sheets to the friggin' wind, but I knew a Daddy Tactic when I heard one. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't even pull that eye-rolling crap with me, Em," Ric snapped, all I have to say, it took quite a bit of effort not to pale at his tone. "Lorenzo may have a soft spot for leggy women who carry a sidearm, but I don't want this little Carly-esque plot to ever—and I do mean _ever_—see the light of day. You hear me?"

In Ric's gaze, hell, even right through the man's fingers, I could feel the utter conviction with which he spoke. He did not want me to go through with this. And maybe I didn't either, but, right then, it was one of the only solutions I could see. Yes, it was dirty and underhanded, but desperate times, right? You work with what you got, and what I had then was limited. And limited options to choose from usually meant that any decision you _did_ make, was bound to upset somebody. It just so happened that this decision was going to upset _everybody_. Even my not-quite lawyer. Even me.

But unpleasantness aside, and even in my almost tanked state, I could still recognize the necessity in this new course of action I'd set before myself and my organization. And in my new life, the life I'd been living for the past six years, necessity of action, no matter how ugly, how brutal, or how twisted, would always win out in the end. Simply put, you do what you have to do to survive. And the rest? The emotional consequences? You buck up and find a way to just deal… or you go crazy trying. And I wasn't about to lose my marbles over Mob Barbie and her slick-talking sidekick. I'd endure anything to finally put an end to Faith's reign of terror in PC. Anything. Even this. And that was a truth Ric would just have to come to terms with. A truth they'd all have to come to terms with. Like it or not.

A tiny standoff had erupted in the doorway between myself and Ric, and I suppose the infusion of anger and resentment that always went hand in hand with thinking about Faith, had somehow managed to water down the effect of those drinks I'd downed, because suddenly Ric wasn't so blurry anymore, and I found myself pushing out of Max's hold and moving purposefully into the hall, and all by my lonesome, too. Ric's voice sounded out behind me.

"Emily, don't go through with this. You asked me for something before, as your friend, and now it's my turn. Do not go at Alcazar this way. Find some other avenue. _Please_."

I turned to him from the hall and quirked an eyebrow. "And do you honestly believe that any other 'avenue' has the same potential as this one, Ric? Even comes close at all?"

For a few tense seconds he tried to stare me down, but eventually truth triumphed and Ric looked away. He knew I was right. This was it, the key to dismantling Faith the _legal_ way, and there wasn't a damn thing he could say to the contrary. His way of thinking wouldn't allow it. Ric was a strategist to his very core and, though one of the oldest tricks in the book, my method of attack here was _golden_ and he damn well knew it.

Not really one to gloat, I moved forward and gave the older man a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for the council, Ric," I said softly, and then smirked. "And for the drinks. I'll see you later."

But before I could get too far away, a hand locked tightly around my wrist and drew me back. Though firm, there was gentleness to his grip; a slight brushing of his thumb across my pulse point that echoed softness and caring. It urged me without words to look at him. The raw concern I saw in his eyes made my breath catch. "Just… be careful," he whispered.

Two words, so simple, but somehow they meant more to me than I could even say. So I smiled my gratitude instead. "Goodnight, Ric."

And with that, I turned and left him there, standing alone in the hall while Max trailed closely after me.

----

_Ten minutes later…_

The glow from passing streetlamps and headlights flooded the dark cab of the Beamer every few seconds, and in the stillness Max's voice broke in, soft and tentative. "Emily, if you don't mind me asking, what—what were you and Ric talking about up there?"

I sighed and pulled my eyes forward from the scenery. "A turning point," I said.

The car gave a tiny lurch as we met a stoplight. Max glanced at me through the rearview. "You mean like a new strategy? For taking Faith out?"

"Something like that."

"And this new strategy or whatever—it has you going through Alcazar to get to her?" I nodded and my bodyguard's brow furrowed. "Far be it from me to side with Lansing, but, well, are you sure about this? Alcazar… he's…"

"A different animal, I know. God help me, I know." Closing my eyes, I dragged hand through my hair. My head was killing me, and I'd just suffered through one of the worst days in history. I didn't really want to talk or think about anything—especially this—anymore tonight. "Look, Max, you think you can do me a favor?"

"Name it."

"I know you're curious, and I promise I'll let you in on everything in the morning. But right now, do you think you could just get us home. I don't know how much more of this day I can take."

"Sure thing, Em," he said, eyes retraining on the slick streets ahead of him as we began to move again. "Anything you need."

------

**TBC… **

**Next Chap: Confined Spaces—**Jason POV: Emily may want the night finished, but, dearie, it's _far_ from it. -- A guilty conscience sends Jason on a mission to reconnect with his sister, and a twist of Fate sees to it that he gets just that—no matter how painful the journey. ****

**(a/n) **Just a tiny heads up for those of you I threw completely off during that awkward argument in the first segment (the Liz/Georgie thing). It's a builder for a future GQ story; a companion piece for Fettered that I may begin writing after this one is completed (that is if the stupid writers for the show don't kill my GQ love once and for all with Georgie's recent antic. (stop mauling your cousin!) And don't even get me started on Dillon's limp noodle fiasco or this new _To Wong Foo_ crap. [grumbles] I hate Guza and Pratt. I truly do. They keep this up, and I'll be left with no other options but to become an Astrid/Dillon shipper. Idiots.). It won't have any bearing on this story's plot so, until I use it down the line in my GQ story, don't even worry about it, okay? It just needed to plug it in there for my plotline in the GQ story to have legitimacy.

Also, I know there was no Em/Jase interaction this chapter, but the next two chapters will _only_ involve them, so I think that'll sufficiently make up for it. :o) Oh, and how did you guys like the Emily/Ric stuff? If you read my stuff you know that I just love the reformed nut, so I just had to put him in this. Plus, I think Ric meshes well with this Emily, friendship wise. He's been in her place, felt that desperation and loss. I think having him as a friend and confidant may be good for her.

Liz/Jax: I stressed over this one but I really had no clue who else to put her with. It couldn't be lucky. I have plans for him... So, anyway, I know its kinda out there, but I think it could be good. :o)

Tiny note: I mentioned Em never being a girl scout and then I had a thought—she wasn't, right? I mean, did I forget something from her youth? Call me crazy, but this little fact is totally bugging me. I'm such a dork that way.

Well, I'm outta here for now. Don't forget to review, and I'll see you all next update! Bye!! --Loke


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